


Trash, Scraps, My Abandoned Drafts

by Novel-Failure (NoveltyToy)



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Unfinished and unlikely to ever be finished, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-25 06:24:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoveltyToy/pseuds/Novel-Failure
Summary: I'm just going to leave this here as an assortment of drafts that I started for mySeries of Seriously Bad Decisions,but never got around to completing. I hit a really big mental roadblock, my original sources of inspiration both abandoned me, so I'm very close to giving up on this project. There might be something salvageable in my drafts that I can scrape together into some smaller, self-contained stories, but my original goal of connecting all the various pieces now seems impossible. And, honestly, I'm not sure whether it's worth the effort anymore. If you want any hope of seeing this continued or eventually completed, please leave a comment with some encouragement.If anyone wants to help me complete my series, I'm still interested in co-authoring and beta reading. You could consider this a preview of all the pieces that I have in the works thus far and a general idea of the process I use in fleshing out my ideas.Feel free to get me started on something new or prompt me to finish one of these drafts. Or if you're just looking for a prompt to play with on your own, feel free to pick through my trash and take whatever you like to re-purpose for your own story needs.





	1. Welcome Home, Danny Rand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of Danny's journey, his return to New York, and a tease of some nefarious subplot when Danny stops at Luke's Bar and learns that some homeless people are disappearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Featured Characters:** Danny Rand and Luke Cage.
> 
>  
> 
> **Primary Objectives:**
> 
>   * Introducing Danny Rand, Luke Cage, and a villainous subplot that involves the abduction of homeless people.
>   * Establishing that Danny Rand is returning to New York for the first time since his plane crashed and that Luke Cage owns/runs his own bar.
> 


Context: Danny returns to New York after learning of The Incident that took place. He was reminded of the people that he’d left behind. Joy and Ward Meachum were especially prominent in his mind. Harold. J-Money. A handful of other people that he remembered working with his parents or attending to his education.

#### Welcome Home, Danny Rand

The journey home took months. He had no passport, no identification whatsoever, no money.

But Danny was a zen guy. He actually made friends with relative ease. He was very patient, kind, generous, and helpful. His training as Iron Fist was left incomplete, but he was well practiced in meditation. He was able to remain calm, to talk gently and diffuse conflict. People usually found it easy to relax around him, often even in spite of their resolve to remain vigilant in his presence.

Observers might say that there was a childlike innocence in his gaze. A curiosity. But also the kind of grown-up restraint that few adults ever even master.

He made money by being helpful. He learned of underground fighting rings and wisely participated without utilizing the full extent of his abilities. He didn’t need them to win, and he already drew too much attention to himself with how soundly he beat the competition with the strength of his techniques alone. The Iron Fist would be overkill, perhaps literally if he wasn’t careful. The boys, men, and a handful of women he found in these competitions were a far cry from the warriors he’d dueled with in K’un L’un. It was hardly fair for him to compete against them, but he needed the money for safe travel. After acquiring sufficient cash and a fake passport, he set off on his journey to America. He couldn’t quite stomach the thought of purchasing a plane ticket, so he opted to travel the long way by bus, train, car, and finally boat.

He told people bits and pieces of his story along the way. Never everything. It became glaringly obvious that truth would push the limits of what most were willing to believe, even with gods and monsters already being an accepted part of reality, Danny's story sounded a little far fetched. Billionaire's plane crashes in the Himalayas and only the ten year old child survives, rescued by monks from a different dimension. Honestly, it still made Danny's head spin sometimes when he sat down and thought about it. 

Pray that Davos would forgive him for abandoning his post. But he needed to know that his old friends were safe.

#####  _Scene Transition_

Finally, they reached port. And this was it. Here he was. New York City. It was achingly familiar and yet nothing was quite like he remembered. He supposed that a lot could change in fifteen years. _‘Have I really been gone for that long?’_ It felt like yesterday, as he walked down the streets and thought of the way things used to be. The way he dreamed it had been, whenever he’d dared to think of the past - though, sometimes it felt like the monks were trying to physically beat the memories away when they’d batted at him with the training swords.

For a long time, he’d thought his life as Danny Rand was over. That the past was gone, but it seemed to come alive again as he set foot here. In New York. The city that used to be home. It was like a lifetime ago. But the ghosts were unsettled by his return.

He wandered almost aimlessly at first. He found himself at various memorial sites. Surveying the damages that were still in need of repair. Eventually he found himself at Luke’s bar.

#####  _Scene Transition_

(Luke or one of the other bar patrons) asks, “So… you heard that a bunch of aliens attacked New York and you just decided that was where you wanted to be. Right in all the action or more like a disaster tourist just wanting to see all the carnage after the fact?

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Danny calmly sought to explain, “I have family here.” Danny tried not to linger on the thought of whether or not he could really call any of them family. Would they even still consider him a friend after he’s been gone for so long? “I wanted to see them. I needed to know that they were okay.” … “That… _disaster tourism…_ is that a thing? Do people really do that?”

Luke was wiping down the bar or drying a glass. He didn’t answer right away. Neither one did.

“Yeah,” the other guy said after a moment. “Heck, it’s not as if this place wasn’t crazy enough as it was, but stuff like that - it brings all the crazies out. I can’t even begin to tell you the things I seen people do since then.”

“You got somebody you can stay with while you’re here?”

“No. Anywhere is fine. I can find a secluded place in the park.”

The bar patron was shaking his head, “It ain’t safe. I’m telling ya, I’ve heard stories. A lot of stories, people going missing. When they’re homeless, street rats, the bad guys think no one cares, no one’s even going to notice.”

"I don't understand. What do you think is happening to these people?”

“Oh no,” some eavesdropper from across the bar speaks up just as the man Danny’s been talking to is lighting up with excitement. “Here we go. Get out your tinfoil hats, guys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point along the line, I felt really inspired to incorporate some characters from Iron Fist into my already-stupid-complicated-backstory. That and I kind of just wanted to experiment with a bunch of minor characters, because - because _I don't even know why._ All that amounted to was a huge waste of time, I guess. 
> 
> So this was _intended_ to be the beginning of my altered take on how to introduce Danny Rand, Luke Cage and a subplot about people disappearing for ~ mysterious ~ reasons that were definitely going to tie in to at least one of three different super-villainous groups. Which, optimistically, would've also eventually led to a Defenders team-up by involving Jessica Jones and Daredevil as well.


	2. Harold Meachum's Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This draft was written for potential inclusion in my _Series of Seriously Bad Decisions._**
> 
> **Timeline Notes:** leaning towards placing this in Harry and Peter's Junior year of high school just for the comment Harold makes about Norman's security issues and also so I can hint towards Norman being paranoid because Meachum saw him exiting a Goblin hideout. But idk, I should probably work it in sooner than that, maybe? It's already a busy year for Norman. 
> 
> I should also include him using Meachum for target practice with the batarangs at some point. 
> 
> **Featured Characters:** Harold Meachum and Norman Osborn.
> 
> **Primary Objectives:**
> 
>   * Establish that Norman Osborn and Harold Meachum have a history. More specifically, Norman's wife, Emily, had an affair with Meachum and led Harold to believe that Norman's son was actually his. 
>   * References to my weird subplot with Harold being at least minimally aware of the existence of the Scryers, the legends surrounding the Descendants of the Fae, and the ritualized incest involved in preserving the purity of its high ranking members.
>   * Norman knew about the affair and has access to proof that Harry is his son but he chooses _not_ to mention this evidence to Meachum, allowing Harold to continue to believe that Harry is his son.
>   * Norman abducts Meachum, tortures and interrogates him for information about how Meachum cheated death.
> 

> 
> **Warning:** torture.

###### [Emerging from the swamp, back from the dead (again), stumbling into what's arguably his worst decision ever.]

"Norman," Harold gasped with relief when he recognized the man. "Osborn. I'm so glad I found you. **Alone** ," Meachum sounds oddly concerned. "Don't you have a security detail? Heard there was a **giant bird** , _among others_ , that were out for your head recently."

Osborn was standing completely still, staring at him. 

"Oh, right, you must be confused. Along with everyone else, I'm sure you thought I was **dead**. Well, I'm not." Harold's smile is just on the wrong side of manic. 

In an uncharacteristically touchy-feely gesture Osborn reached out to grasp Harold's shoulder. It was only then that Norman finally spoke. "It's really you. You're alive?"

"What?" Meachum laughed, "did you think I was a ghost? A hallucination?" 

Norman's eyes hardened. "What do you want?"

Harold acted more than a bit mildly offended at that. _"What?_ Can't a guy take advantage of his resurrection to say _hi_ to an old friend?"

"You _fucked_ my wife. We were **never** friends."

"Well, **somebody** had to. You certainly weren't fucking **_her,_** _now,_ were you?"  Harold knew he was overstepping his boundaries with Norman before he even opened his mouth, but he couldn't help wanting to get a rise out of the always stern and far too tightly wound Norman Osborn. Harold tried to shrug off his blutness with a shark toothed grin. "Lighten up, Normie. I gave you a son, after all, didn't I?"

Not that Norman needed to be reminded of that, but Meachum always thought Osborn should be grateful. Harold did the grumpy fag a favor, helping him fool his grandfather and that freaky cult into think he was playing along with whatever bizarre plans they had for preserving the family's pedigree. Unless Norman would've preferred to be stuck raising sone inbred piece of shit, he was better off with Harold's bastard.  

Norman said nothing. Too disgusted and irritated to bother refuting it. Whatever lies Emily told Meachum were her business, and they should've died along with her. With both of them. Meachum was supposed to be dead. That fact alone had Norman already considering whether or not he could kill Harold right here and now and be done with it - whatever it was. _What was he doing here? What did he want?_

"Nevermind that then," Harold tried to course correct the conversation. "Let's leave the past in the past. I'm certainly not interested in stirring up a custody battle. I need your help for something I think could benefit both of us."

###### [Torture/Interrogation Under OsCorp]

"Magic?" Norman is not having it. "Magic," he laughs and he's beginning to sound more and more like the Goblin. "Do you  _really_ expect me to believe that?" 

"I don't know what else to tell you, Normie." 

"Tell me how they did it." 

_"I don't know!_ How many times do I have to tell you that? **I - don't - know.** I didn't ask. They wouldn't have told me if I had."

"Then tell me what you _do_ know. Tell me _everything,_ Harold." 

##### [Scene Transition]

"A sacrifice - no, many sacrifices, were necessary. _I don't know who,_ I don't know _how_. I've told you - I've told you - _please, let me go."_

"I'm sick of hearing what _you don't know,_ Harold."  (Insert Generic Torture Device) "Try again, and this time - focus on what _you_  do _know."_

(Insert screams, panting, gasping, obvious signs of pain and duress on the part of Meachum)

"Okay, okay," Harold struggled to catch his breath but when he did, he managed to summon the tenancity to stare Osborn in the eyes. "I know I had to die before they could heal me. My cancer, for whatever reason, they couldn't fix that, but they _could_ cure death." Much as it exasperated his injuries, Meachum couldn't help but laugh. The uncontrollable fits were broken up by tortured attempts to catch his breath.

"I don't know how many times I need to tell you, Normie. It wasn't _science_ that brought me back. You won't be able to replicate the process."

##### [Scene Transition]

"They're called the _Hand._ It's a silly name, I know," he shrugged as much as his restraints would allow, hoping to disabuse Norman of the unamusing notion that he might have made this up. "I'm not - I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. I swear."

"You never were very creative," Norman couldn't resist a dig. 

 "Emily used to say something similar about you." Harold stretched the truth. Emily never had many kind words to describe her spouse, but she had never specifically negged Norman's ability to get _creative_. 

Fortunately, Norman found it easy enough to ignore the insult. He never did much care for whatever his wife had thought of him, especially not what she had to say about him to her lovers, and she was long dead by now anyhow.  _Good riddance,_ he'd used up all of his sympathy for her when he'd learned the full extent of Lyman's connections to Hydra and her plans for their son.

##### [Scene Transition]

Norman pulls the latex gloves off with a snap, discards of them, and begins thoroughly washing his hands, wrists, and forearms - _'further tests will be required.'_ Silently, he contemplates what resources he can devote to investigating this _curiosity_. 

##### [Scene Transition]

"I should've known better than to trust you." It's a struggle for Harold to speak when he's still gasping for air, drowning in his own blood, and suffering unspeakable pain. "Norman," the name is reduced to a mumble, "N'm'n."  _You sonofabitch._ Meachum isn't able to finish cursing the sonofabitch before he loses consciousness, dying again for the  _n_ th time.

"We'll talk more later," Norman reassures him before he turns to leave. 

##### [Scene Transition]

"One way **_or another_** ," Norman's smile sickens Meachum. "You're going to spill your _**guts** _ tonight, Meachum." 

 **"Literally.** Or figuratively?" Norman's voice sounds remarkably similar to his alter ego, even without the benefit of a voice modulator."I'll leave that up to you to decide."

"You - you have a _**sick**_ sense of humor,"  Harold spits, but there's a large crack in his bravado. The pain and anger wearing down on him. 

##### [Scene Transition]

"If I had any answers, don't you think I would've told you already?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, I had planned for Harold Meachum to have had a history with the Osborns. Specifically, making room for the possibility that Harold had an affair with Emily Lyman-Osborn and that she named her son after him. Harold Meachum may even have been led to believe that Harry Osborn was actually his son, not Norman's. 
> 
> Later, Meachum would resurface in the story after having gotten involved with the Hand. When things went sideways and Ward stabbed him to death, dumped his body in a swamp, Harold would emerge from the muck and seek out an "old friend" for help. Norman was less than happy to see him, in fact, and when he realized that Harold was alone and everyone else thought he was dead - well, Norman killed him and brought the body to one of his secret labs. 
> 
> As Meachum awoke from the dead, for *what?* the *third* time now? He discovered that he'd been strapped to an examination table. Norman was preparing to - oh, shit.
> 
> And if Norman's attempt to recreate the Hand's resurrection process lead to a near zombie apocalypse down the line, that would be a fun subplot.


	3. Disheartening Pillowtalk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This draft was written for potential inclusion in my _Series of Seriously Bad Decisions._**  
>  **Timeline Notes:** Undecided. Somewhere between 8th and 10th grade. (There's a reference to both boys being fourteen, but that may be subject to change.)
> 
>  **Featured Characters:** Peter Parker and Harry Osborn
> 
> **Primary Objectives:**
> 
>   * Building Peter/Harry's Sexual History, and Peter's history of denial and rejecting the possibility that he is anything other than straight. 
> 

> 
> **Warning:** Teenage Boys, Sexual Experimentation, Awkward Conversation.

#### Disheartening Pillowtalk

They lay awake, lying beside each other in Harry's queen size bed. Catching their breath. Recovering from a heated bout of 'practice' kisses. A full blown make-out session, if either boy was going to be completely honest. 

“You don’t think - “ Peter started to say, but he stopped himself before he could finish the thought.

“No, Pete,” Harry rolled over to face his friend with a broad smile. **“Never.** I can’t recall ever having a single thought in my head.” That earned him a groan from Peter.

 _“ **Not** what I meant_ ," Pete groused back and bumped his shoulder against Harry's. The movement incited immediate retaliation in the form of a pointy elbow to Peter's ribs. Parker decided he wasn't going to take any abuse lying down, so he rolled on top of Harry. The ensuing tangle of limbs very nearly turned into an impromptu wrestling match but then again, with the way their bodies rubbed together, it very nearly turned into something else.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Peter complained.

“Oh, _**I’m sorry** ,”_ Harry purred, arms sliding over Petey's shoulders and legs wrapping around Petey’s waist. “Didn’t realize you were getting off on this.”

 _“Ugh,"_ Peter dropped his head with a grumble. His forehead came to rest against Harold's collarbone, keeping his head down to hide the flush that rose on his cheeks. "You didn’t let me finish _speaking_  before you _so rudely_ interrupted.”

“Oh," Harry laughed, _"My mistake."_ He gave Peter's head an affectionate little pat before letting his fingers slip through the boy's hair and scratch gently at the nape of Pete's neck.  "I'm sorry, that was _so **rude**_ of me."  It didn't sound at all like a real apology, but Peter was too entranced by Harry's gentle touch to care about that.

Peter leaned into Harry's soft hands and allowed them to guide him far enough away from Harry's chest that Peter could peer at the boy's lips as Harold spoke and appreciate the cute dimples whenever he paused to smile.

"When you stopped talking, I guess I just assumed that you were done. So what was it you were going to say?”

For an excruciatingly long moment it was too difficult for Peter to find an answer. He'd become less interested in what was coming out of Harry’s mouth and much more interested in considering the possibilities of what he might put inside it. _His tongue, his fingers, his cock._ He dreaded the question he'd had in mind, fearing it would destroy the moment, but also thinking it all the more necessary to ask. 

“It isn't gay, is it?" 'This doesn't make us - doesn't make _me_ \- gay,' Pete meant to ask. He raised up further, far enough that Harry's hands were regrettably forced to fall away from their playful petting.  Much as it almost physically pained him, Peter was trying to concentrate on reading his friend's facial expressions. He sensed that Harry was hesitating. Confused, hurt, or angry, it was hard for Peter to tell the difference. The question had probably seemed to have come out of nowhere, startling him. So Peter sought to clarify:

"What we’re doing now. What we've been doing. Kissing, touching... this doesn't confirm everyone's suspicions about me."

(The other boys at school had called him gay and teased him for being queer for as long as he could remember, although he swears that he never gave them any reason to think that way about him. The rumors only got started because of the way he used to cling to Flash Thompson back when they'd still been friends in elementary school.)

"No, it doesn't." Harry gave Peter a gentle push that encouraged Parker to back off far enough that Harry was able to extricate himself from underneath the other boy. "We're - you and I, I mean, we're what? Fourteen? Of course it doesn't. It doesn't mean anything. Teenagers, especially teenage boys can get turned on by anything. A strong breeze. A couple rocks or a water stain that kind of sort of even looks like boobies." That prompted a nervous chuckle from both of them.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, hoping the movement would disguise the way he was ever so slightly trembling with anxiety. He continued to talk, to reassure Peter. "We're - I mean, what we've been doing, experimenting... with each other, it's just natural. It's  _normal._ And it doesn't really necessarily say anything about your future more fully developed sexual preferences." Harry sounded so absolutely confident in everything he said, like it was common sense. There was no doubt in Peter's mind that his friend was absolutely right.

Peter sighed with relief, letting go of a breath he hadn't even realized that he'd been holding. "I'm so glad to hear you say that."

Harry gave a stiff nod and turned away. Reaching for his phone, checking his messages, straightening his desk, anything to keep Peter from having a clear view of his face. Harry didn't want his friend noticing how horrible he felt just then, how much of a liar he was making himself out to be. Calling this normal, natural, as if he wasn't taking complete advantage of Peter's innocence, his naivety.

None the wiser of Harry's true feelings, Peter went on to explain, "Because I really like girls. I really, really do. Even if they don't seem to like me right now. Not yet, anyway. Uncle Ben says I have a lot of growing up to do, that I'll - you know, let's not talk about that. It'll just, it'll happen eventually."

Harry tried to ignore the way it made his heart sink. He knew Peter was still fixated on MJ, specifically, even if Peter had been doing better lately about downplaying his boyhood crush. And if - when - that didn't work out, he was sure that Peter liked to entertain an irritatingly vague and unrealistic fantasy about finding some manic pixie dream girl. It probably didn't even occur to Pete to think of Harry in the same way. Harry was just his friend. A friend with special benefits, yes, but no romantic connection. Just an occasional outlet for Peter's pent up sexual frustrations. 

And he could be okay with that. Really, he could. Harry promised himself that he would be okay. In a way it was only fair, because Harry was using Peter for the same thing. For friendship and sexual intimacy. Harry's motives may have been slightly different, but the end result was much the same. Except that Harry couldn't help but worry that he was falling in love. 


	4. Kissing, Grieving, Arguing, Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys got together to relieve some stress and sexual tension. Peter's still grieving the loss of his uncle and not handling it very well. An argument ensues. Peter leaves in a huff. Harry winds up in Daddy's bed, bawling his eyes out, and Norman's day just got worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This draft was written for potential inclusion in my _Series of Seriously Bad Decisions._**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Featured Characters:** Peter Parker, Harry and Norman Osborn.
> 
>  **Timeline Notes:** During tail end of their sophomore year in high school. Some time after Uncle Ben dies.
> 
> **Primary Objectives:**
> 
>   * Peter and Harry have little heart-to-heart.
>   * Peter reacts poorly to the conversation and decides to leave. In the process, he makes a hurtful comment
>   * Harry seeks comfort in Norman's bed.
>   * Daddy is not happy.
> 

> 
> **Warning:** Teenage Sexual Experimentation. Awkward/Heated Conversation. Slut Shaming. Brooding.

#####  _Kisses_

Kisses. So many kisses. _Fast, long, slow, lingering, quick, fleeting -_ the flurry continued until Harry lost all measure of time. It felt as though they might continue like this forever, the two of them locked together in bliss.

 _'I love you,'_ Harry wanted to confess. He even imagined that his lips and tongue formed the words, but he didn't have the breath to say them aloud. Peter wasn't ready to hear them yet, anyhow. Not like this. Not when they were both still pretending that it was only a game between them. Boys being boys. Couple of horny teenagers just doing what came naturally. 

As they broke apart for air, Harry noticed the way Peter's fingers lingered in his hair and kept holding him close. Harry nuzzled his nose against Peter's throat, breathing in the scent of them, their exertion - both boys finding that they didn't mind the slick of sweat and other fluids splattered between them.

"I've missed this," Harry dared to tell him, and unburied his face from Parker's throat to chance a glance at the other boy's expression.

Peter kissed him again, a quick peck on the forehead this time before drawing back. "Me too," Pete sighed as he transferred more of his weight off Harry, lying on his side rather than wholly on-top of his friend. They spent several minutes silently basking in the afterglow, catching their breath. The rise and fall of their chests and the steady beat of one another's heart was absorbing all their attention.

The closeness was somehow more intoxicating than any drink Harold could have possibly mixed from his father's liquor cabinet. Touching Peter Parker was almost a religious experience for Harry, the physical contact metaphorically chasing away all the usual darkness that clung to him. Harry wondered if their time together meant half as much to Peter as it did to him. 

Meanwhile, Peter's mind screamed at him to be honest with Harry and to finally be honest with himself about why this kept happening. _Why did he keep coming back to Harry's bed?_ Because it's fun, they have fun together, and it's good practice. It enhances their friendship. _'Doesn't it also push the boundaries of what a friendship is supposed to be?'_ One day they were probably going to both grow up and out of this nonsense, and they'd be embarrassed by all the things they'd done together. Things would get weird between them. It was inevitable, wasn't it?  _'Can't I just enjoy this while it lasts? We'll burn that bridge after we cross it, not before.'_ Peter tried not to get confused by his own metaphor.

"I know it's my fault," Peter’s mouth starts working of its own accord. “We haven’t done this in a while. I’ve been distant.”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind, Pete. I understand.”

"I know. And it - it’s not really fair. I've been pulling away from everyone, since my - since Uncle Ben died. Maybe even before then. You’ve all just been trying to help, and it’s been too much. But - but also not enough? Like there’s nothing anyone can really _do._  Nothing is going to bring him back, and - and sometimes... I just need to be left alone to process that fact.”

“I get it,” Harry didn’t like it, but he could pretend to understand. “After I lost my godfather, I locked myself in my room all the time.” Albeit, Harry hadn’t done it because he _wanted_ to be alone, but he didn’t have any other options at the time. His father was too busy to stay by his side, and Harry couldn’t trust anyone else to protect him, to keep him safe from the  ** _bad men._**

Rather than being comforted, Peter seemed angry. He stiffened and pulled away from Harry.

“I know I’m not the only one who has ever lost someone, but you think that prepares you to understand someone else’s grief and _it doesn’t.”_

“I wasn’t trying to -” Harry cut off his own reflexive response. He wasn’t trying to - _what?_ Wasn’t trying to understand Peter’s grief? That’s exactly what he was trying to do, wasn’t it? And what’s wrong with that? “Okay, I was just trying to help. You don’t have to be alone with it, Peter. Uncle Ben wouldn’t want you to use this as an excuse to become the brooding loner all over again.”

#####  **[Scene Transition]**

##### Context: The fight escalates, Peter decides to leave. Harry wants to get a driver or call a cab, give Peter a ride home - 

 “No, thanks.” Peter is intent on web swinging to clear his head.

Harry threatens to call Aunt May.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“Fine, I won’t,” Harry relents, “But at least take this.” Harry hands him a can of mace.

“I don’t need that. I’ll be fine,” Peter’s not so much insulted by the offer as he is annoyed with it.

“Then hold on,” Harry rummages around and pulls out something else, shoving a taser into Peter’s hand. “Take this,” Harry insists, “for my peace of mind, if nothing else. You can consider it on loan, if you don’t want to keep it, but it’s fine if you do.”

“Okay,” Peter tries not to consider the flurry of ideas of how he could re-purpose some of the components in this gadget and he just shoves it in his bag. “Am I good to go now? Do I have your permission?”

“I still think you should reconsider. Stay in one of the guest rooms for the night. You can leave in the morning."

“Not tonight, Hare. I’m going home.” Peter is firm on this.

 _“Fine then,”_ Harry says it like a curse. He trails down the hall after Peter, silently pleading with him in his mind to reconsider. As they reach the front door, Parker is still blatantly refusing to look at him, and Harry just needs to say one more thing. He needs to reassure himself that they’re still friends, it's stupid to think one little argument like this could ever change that. They care far too much about one another to ever let that happen.

“Text me when you get home, okay? So I’ll know that you’re safe.” Somehow, miraculously, the words were enough to bring Peter to a dead stop. Pete’s hand fell away from the doorknob and he turned on his heel to face Harry.

“Look, I _appreciate_ the concern, I really do, but I’m not a baby. I don’t need to be monitored. I don’t need you checking in on me all the time.”

Harry bristled. He wanted to object. He wanted to say that his fear for Peter's safety was  _completely justified._ Especially after what had happened to his Uncle Ben! But Harry said nothing as Peter continued to rant.

“You wanna ride me in the bedroom? _Have at it, go on and slut it up to your heart’s content._ But we’re not fooling around right now, Harry. So get off my dick.”

Harry was too stunned to respond and Peter immediately realized that he'd overreacted, but it was too late to take it back. So Peter didn’t wait for Harry to recover, he just bolted out the door to hide his embarrassment.

The next thing Harry knew the door was being slammed shut and he was left standing there all alone.

Several minutes passed with him just standing there, staring at the door. Harry's eyes filled with tears until they began to overflow. _'Slut it up,'_ kept ringing through his head. Peter thought he was a slut, and that's all Harry could think about. Like a complete fool, Harry had almost told Peter that he loved him, and then somehow this had happened instead.

"I'm such an idiot." Harry tried to wipe away the tears and he just managed to smear snot all over his forearm. In a daze, he made his way into the nearest bathroom and tried to clean himself up. "I'm an idiot," he kept cursing himself. "So stupid. Never should've taken my pants off." Because it was his fault, thinking that if he put out for Peter, then he could earn the other boy's love and affection. But all he'd succeeded in doing was making Peter think that he was some dumb slut.  

Harry collapsed on the floor and pulled a towel down over his face when it became clear that the flood of tears wasn't going to run itself dry anytime soon. He exhausted himself with his crying and made empty promises about how he'd never sleep with Peter ever again. He'd never even talk to or look at that boy ever again.

But deep down, he knew it was a lie. As soon as Peter got over himself enough to text Harry an apology, he knew he'd go crawling back.

Peter could be an ass sometimes, but it didn't matter. Because Peter would eventually realize his mistakes and Harry was fool enough to keep giving him second chances. Harry wasn't sure he could even hold Peter accountable for all the hurt he caused, because Peter didn't know that Harry was in love with him. Peter wouldn't have said those things if he'd known how much it would hurt Harry. Peter still thought they were just fooling around.

#####  _Scene Transition_

[Norman returns home and finds Harry curled up in his bed and hugging a tear stained pillow. _His. Norman's_ bed _. Norman's_ pillow. (The decorative one, Norman's secret favorite. The one that Harry had ordered with Norman's initials _'NO'_ emblazoned on it in large capital letters.)*]

Norman pushed aside his first impulse to simply tell the boy to _get the hell out._ If he said _that,_ he'd seriously injure any chance of the boy honestly confessing what had upset him. _Not that Norman cared,_ but of course he did, _this was his son._

“Just what do you think you’re doing, child?”

Harry flinches, noticeably, and Norman almost regrets his tone of voice. “Peter and I had a fight,” Harry sniffles.

 _‘Lover’s quarrel?’_ Norman thinks better of voicing the thought out loud. Harry hasn’t ‘come out’ and neither has Peter. It’s so _obvious_ that the boys have already started fucking, but so long as Norman doesn’t acknowledge that fact he thought he could avoid having to deal with it. He'd rather avoid the risk of Harry feeling that he had an invitation to start prattling in Daddy's ear about teenage angst and relationship drama.

Besides, Peter’s a good boy. If things ever went too far, Norman had always assumed that Harry would be the one taking advantage of Peter. _ 'But then why had Harry been reduced to tears?'_

“Dare I ask what the fight was about?”

“It was stupid,” Harry says, “I don’t even know. I was just trying to be his friend. Get him to talk about his feelings, and instead he bolted for the door.”

“Sounds like his problem, not yours. So why are you getting worked up over it? Leave the boy alone, Harold. Give him some fucking space."  _And get out of_ my  _space while you're at it._  "Just because you can’t handle being left alone, doesn’t mean solitude is bad for Peter.” Norman’s tone was far harsher than necessary. For god’s sake, he’d only come home to get a few winks of sleep, and now Harry was standing - technically, _lying_ \- in the way of that. Would it really be too cruel to just cuss and kick him out? Did he _really_ need to worry about Harry’s feelings right now?

He would've half considered turning on his heel and heading for one of the guest bedrooms if not for the fact that he would be ceding control of his room to his son, which was a completely unacceptable line of thought. But damn if it wouldn't save him a lot of trouble. 

#####  **[Scene Transition to Peter's POV]**

Nothing quite like web swinging to clear Peter’s head. And nothing raised his spirits quite so much as a successful take-down. Catching bad guys made for some good therapy. Sort of. A bit of a mood killer when they started to cry or pee themselves.

Unfortunately, stringing up all the petty criminals in the city wasn’t going to be enough to fix things tonight.

Peter had screwed things up with Harry. _Again._ For probably the hundredth time since he’d gotten these stupid powers.  

He just couldn’t stop himself from saying the wrong thing.

Peter stopped atop his favorite building, perched on a gargoyle he’d affectionately dubbed Bruce. This was fast becoming his place to watch over the city and brood. Like Batman, Harry’s favorite superhero.

[And of course Harry would idolize Batman, of all superheroes (real and fictional). Harry’s father just so happened to be the mogul of a technological empire worth billions and Norman’s parents also happened to have both been viciously murdered.]

“Oh, Bruce, what’s a boy to do?”

Sadly, the gargoyle remained silent as ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I have this running joke in my head of Harry having lots and lots of things custom made with his and Norman's initials on them. Because putting NO and HO all over the place amuses me, and also PP for Peter. Norman secretly loves all the items Harry put NO on, but disapproves of Harry's collection of HO merchandise (which Daddy steals, hides or disposes of and maybe even sometimes replaces with a NO). 
> 
> Like in the instance of Harry wanting to wear monogrammed clothing. Harry is welcome to wear tshirts or underwear with Daddy's initials, NO (the implication being "hands off, don't touch" rather than an intentional declaration of ownership), but not permitted to when they say HO (for obvious reasons). The one exception is the collection of christmas stockings that Norman allows Harry to put on display. Two for Harry and one for Norman on the end. HO HO NO. 
> 
> (I work for a company that personalizes things, so this silly thought and its endless possibilities has kept me laughingly amused for hours while I go about my menial job.)


	5. Nap with Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another old draft I've had lying around. I like this scene. I think it's cute. 
> 
> Please feel free to comment and let me know if you're still waiting on an update to any of my works. Anything to help motivate me to continue and make a little more progress with the Seriously Bad Decisions series or anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This draft was written for potential inclusion in my _Series of Seriously Bad Decisions._**
> 
> **Featured Characters:** Harry and Norman Osborn
> 
>  **Timeline note:** Intended for senior year. Taking place the same day Harry was told that Norman received some sort of message concerning a threat directed at Harry. The day after Norman attended the party where he interacted with Tony, found out about Peter's Stark internship and had a secret meeting with Tombstone. 
> 
> **Primary Objectives:**
> 
> ****
>   * ****Harry and Norman both need some cuddles. So I give them opportunity for cuddles.
> 

> 
> **Warnings:** a couple pretty strong hints of incestual feelings/fantasies.

Harry came home from school and found Norman asleep on the couch, fully dressed. Norman hadn't even taken his shoes off. Harry set his schoolbag down by the door, quietly pulled off his sneakers and took hesitant steps closer until he was kneeling beside his father's unconscious form.

Norman was slumped in what looked like an uncomfortable position, halfway lying on his side, face squished into one of the throw pillows that was propped awkwardly against the armrest. His long legs were bent at the knees, one tucked under the other.  He appeared to be hugging himself, arms crossed over his chest, his fingers occasionally twitched as if maybe he dreamed of clutching someone close. If there was a little drool soaked into the pillow, Harry pretended not to notice. He stopped to admire the way Dad's short hair was messily sticking up. This was all a very humanizing moment. It seemed like it'd been forever since he'd ever caught Norman in any sort of disarray, and now here he was in an almost hilarious state of disorder. And somehow he looked hotter than ever, because who knew that Norman Osborn could ever look so vulnerable?

But much of the humor was lost when Harry fixed his gaze on the tired, distressed look on Daddy's face. There was movement behind his eyelids, a muffled groan as Norman unconsciously pulled his arms closer around himself. Harry could've sworn he heard his own name caught on a gasp. He might've been delighted to know that Daddy was dreaming about him if not for the way his expression was twisting into a frown with deeply furrowed brows.

 _'The threats Emanuel mentioned. He said Dad was taking them seriously. He probably spent all night worrying about me.'_ Suddenly, finding his father looking like a hungover wreck in their living room didn't seem funny at all. 

"Dad," Harry spoke softly. He didn't want to startle his father. His hands itched to reach out and hold him, but the closest he'd allow them to get was touching the edge of the couch cushion. "Dad, I'm here. I'm home," he kept the urgency out of his voice. Just a pleasant greeting, he thought his Dad probably wouldn't appreciate it very much if his son treated him like a child.

Norman's breath hitched as he came to, and there was just a couple moments where he seemed disoriented when he opened his eyes and realized he was in the living room and Harry was hovering next to him, staring. 

"Did you want something?" Norman grumbled while he reached to rub his face and clear the lingering bit of sleep from his eyes. 

"No, I just -" Harry wasn't really in the mood to make excuses, so he cut himself off, "are you alright?"  

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Harry stared at him blankly for a second, eyebrows raised to his hairline, as if the answer were obvious. With a short exhale that barely restrained a humorless laugh, Harry shook his head and said in his best deadpan, "You fell asleep on the couch. With your shoes on." And then he really did chuckle when Norman glanced down at his feet. 

"So I did," the old man mumbled before his thoughts were interrupted by the irresistible urge to yawn. 

"I think I might've heard you say my name. Emanuel told me about the threats this morning. I know you're probably worried about me." And what he'd meant to say was, _'I think you had a nightmare in which I may have been heavily featured.'_  

Norman pushed himself up into a sitting position and reached down to unlace his shoes. "Everything will be fine. I've increased security and I'm making arrangements to see to it that the offending parties are dealt with swiftly. As long as you follow the new protocols..." 

"Dad, I trust you to protect me. But you're still confronting the notion that - that something bad could happen to me." 

**"No,"**  Norman insisted, _ **"I'm not,**  _because I won't let them harm you." Once they were both unlaced, Norman kicked both of his shoes onto the floor with a small clatter. "Harry, I've got everything under control. I'm going to keep you safe." 

"And I really don't doubt that, but - Dad, be honest with me. Having to treat these threats seriously means that the thought of losing me would have to occur to you at some point." 

In that moment, he really hated Harry. Well, not Harry, no, but he hated everything that Harry was saying. Because Norman did not want to acknowledge or address any of the various scenarios he'd imagined, that he’d had to prepare contingencies for, and he wanted to completely wish away the memory of the dream he'd just woken from. The chill had yet to leave his bones from seeing himself holding the lifeless body of his only child.

"It's okay if that thought frightens you, Dad. I mean, don't think less of me for it, but even despite my confidence in you and Emanuel... I'm scared." At this very moment, not really knowing the context of the threats at all, that was definitely a lie. Right now the only thing Harold feared for was his father, because finding him in such a disheveled shape was so unusual. "So could we both drop the bravado for a little while and just hold each other? I mean, help each other get through this."

Norman leaned back with his arms crossed. He looked more like the petulant child and Harry the stern but loving parent and it would’ve been funny if it weren’t for the deadly weight of the threats hanging over them both.   

"No,” Harry dropped the excuse in favor of the truth. “I really meant I could use a cuddle right now." Harry bit his bottom lip and tried to make his eyes look as big and wet as possible without breaking into tears. Shiny sad puppy eyes which not even  _Norman Osborn_ is immune. 

"What are you, twelve?" 

"Seventeen. And it's perfectly acceptable for anyone of any age to seek snuggly comfort when their life is threatened!" Harry purposefully tried to make himself look small by wrapping his arms around himself, knees pulled up to his chest, and doubling his efforts to look sad and scared.

Norman closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose for three seconds before giving in. "If you're going to insist, then go brush your teeth and change out of those jeans. I'm going to bed."

Harry broke into a big grin, "You'll leave the door unlocked?"

Norman got to his feet and picked his shoes up to return them to the closet. "Yes, and you'd best not make me regret it."

...

 

Harry changed into some soft, thin PJs. Just boxers, a t-shirt, and his fluffiest socks. He did a quick but thorough job of brushing his teeth and endured an extra forty long seconds of swishing mouthwash. After a quick sniff to decide that his body's odor wasn't offensive, his deodorant and perfume still kept him smelling sweet and pleasant, he walked quickly but quietly to his father's bedroom door. He stared at the knob for just a second, praying that Daddy hadn't changed his mind. One deep slow breath to calm himself from seeming too eager and his heart thumped a little harder and louder as the door swung open without resistance. The lights were dimmed rather than completely off, but it was still very dark in the room. He clearly saw the outline of his father tucked under the covers.

"Close the door, finish turning the light off, and don't you dare try to hog the blankets or I'll kick you onto the floor," Norman spoke without looking up from where he'd gotten comfortable with his favorite pillow. 

"I have no problems with sharing," Harry assured him as he followed his father's demands and then climbed into the bed next to him. Norman had pulled the covers back to welcome him and proceeded to drape the blankets over the both of them as Harry curled up against his father's side. 

"Going to bed this early is going to mess up your sleep schedule," Norman muttered into his son's hair.

"I'm a teenager, my sleep cycle is already fucked. It's natural. Go to sleep, Dad." 

Norman pulled Harry closer, tucking the boy's head securely beneath his chin, and tightening his arm around the boy's backside to keep him there. Harry shivered with delight and tried to ignore the way Daddy's thigh brushed against his groin. 

"I didn't ask you to join me. I'm perfectly -" 

"Oh, _shush_. Dad," Harry cut him off,  "we all know you're an awesome specimen of masculine perfection. This doesn't change that." 

"Good, but -" that was beside the point that he was awkwardly trying to make. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. We're both grown men - or _mostly_ grown, in your case - and I don't usually share my bed. I haven't for a long time." 

"It's fine. Your reputation as a hard-ass isn't going to take a big hit from a little snuggling." 

"That's not what I meant, Harry," and Daddy sounded frustrated or exasperated with having to say this, but definitely not embarrassed. Norman Osborn does not get embarrassed. "If you notice anything... hard or uncomfortable, just - don't shift around too much. Ignore it or wake me up." 

"Oh," Harry blushed. 

"As I said, it's exceedingly rare for me to share my bed. It's only natural. _You can still leave at any time._ " Which came out sounding more like a suggestion for him to do so _right now,_ but Harold was determined to stay and take advantage of this rare opportunity to be close and provide some emotional comfort to his father.  

"No, it's fine, really," and Harry couldn't help but to briefly imagine what would happen if he offered to take care of any such problem, should it arise. He felt a stirring in his loins and hoped Norman wouldn't notice. "Uhh, likewise, if I..." 

Norman sighed and the breezy exhale tickled the top of Harry's head. "Don't worry about it, kid. I was young once. I know it means nothing." 

 _'Ha, nothing. Right.'_ Harry thought to himself. 

"But if you wet my bed, I'm going to be very cross when I wake up." 

Harry guffawed, "Gee, I'll try to contain my excitement." Norman ignored whatever  _that_ was supposed to mean, silently insisting to himself that  _he_ had been thinking of Harry's childhood history of bed-wetting and was not intentionally referring to or thinking about his son's propensity for nocturnal emissions. 

"And I'd appreciate it if you don't mention this to Peter. God knows, I don't want to hear how Stark would incorporate this information into his grade school playground antics." 

"Wait. How'd you - who told you that Pete's working for Stark?" 

"Who says anyone would've had to tell me anything? _I am God._ I know all. I'm omniscient, omnipotent, omni -" 

"You ran into Stark at the party last night?" 

"Neither one of us is going to get any sleep at this rate," but Norman actually didn't sound half as annoyed as he was trying to pretend. 

"Sorry," Harry offered, "We can talk more later." 

 _"Mmm,”_ Norman focused on the sound of their breathing and the thrum of Harry’s pulse that he could feel through his fingertips. He was fairly certain that Harold had been eager for any excuse to cuddle, it wouldn’t have been the first time that Harry feigned fear for a little affection. Although, in this case, Norman supposed that he had actually wanted this just as much.

 


	6. Peter Caught Naked in Norman's Bathtub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline Note: takes place sometime during Junior Year. Posssibly-probably after the Goblin's first appearance (??) Peter was injured battling the supervillain and pursuing more leads. His pursuit of vigilante justice landed him a sticky situation, literally, and he's both sore and gross smelling but determined not to blow Harry off. When Harry sees the state Peter's in, of course, he insists upon remedying this by inviting Peter up to the penthouse for a bath. And since Norman is supposedly out of town or working late, Harry suggests taking advantage of the big jacuzzi tub in Daddy's en suite bathroom. 
> 
> Norman comes home early and the boy gets caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Status:** Unfinished Scraps of Dialogue.
> 
>  **Featured Characters:** Harry Osborn, Peter Parker, Norman Osborn.
> 
>  **Context/Objective:** Peter is in desperate need of a bath. Harry sets him up in Norman's en suite, not expecting Daddy to come home early. Norman returns and walks in on Peter. Awkwardness ensues.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Nudity. Indecent Thoughts. Awkwardness.
> 
>  **Last updated:** 03/12/18

I am all for laughing at the awkwardness of Norman walking in on Pete. The way I envisioned it happening, Pete left the door unlocked because Harry came in to collect his dirty clothes for the laundry and was either fetching him something else to wear or prepping dinner or something (the boys have seen each other naked so many times by this point it's not weird so neither thought to lock the door). Which is why he wasn't there to intervene before Dad could walk in on Pete.

Norman comes home early after some Goblin escapades didn't pan out how he wanted them to. He's distracted silently arguing with his stupid hallucination so he doesn't notice the light being on under the door (it's not unusual for it to be closed), so he just barges into the bathroom. He might not have even noticed Peter if the boy hadn't jolted upright and splashed the water when he came in.

They stop. They stare at each other. Norman's eyes linger for wayyy longer than he would've except he's just so taken aback by Peter's physique and he half thinks he's hallucinating until Peter stutters out "Mr. O. I, uhh, Harry wasn't, um. We weren't expecting you - he said you wouldn't mind."

And Norman still hasn't looked away. He's just staring dumbfounded at Peter.

Thankfully, Peter managed to pull a washcloth down to cover his junk, and he really wished he would've insisted on a bubble bath instead of just settling for epsom salts. Oh god, why was Harry's dad staring at him? Doesn't common courtesy demand that he avert his gaze?

After an uncharacteristic delay, Norman's mind seemed to catch up with hearing what Peter had just said to him.

"Harry said it would be okay," Norman deliberately avoided any inflection. Calm, detached, rational, not angry. The effect was completely ruined by the impulse he had to lick his lips. It didn't help that he couldn't stop his eyes from following a trail of moisture down Peter's neck. The boy's chest glistened, so beautifully wet and bare and directly in front of him.

Peter gave a slow nod in response and began curling in on himself. Obviously bothered by the fact that Norman was still looking at him. Something about the change in posture snapped some sense into Norman's brain and he finally managed to avert his gaze. How does one extricate themselves from these situations?

"Of course, it's fine. But if you ever have reason to do this again, I suggest you lock the door. Mr. Parker."

Norman turned on his heel and walked out of the room with his head held high, pulling the door shut behind him. He didn't stop walking until he was at the kitchen sink.

Water. Water seemed like a very good idea. He retrieved a glass, filling it quickly and draining it almost just as fast. He had very suddenly felt parched, mouth dry. Had he left it hanging open the whole time he'd been staring?

'Jesus Christ.' Norman filled his glass again, with ice this time and pressed it to his face. Why was he feeling flush?

Peter was his son's best friend (secret lover). Peter is Harry's age. Christ, he's only sixteen.

...but since when the hell did Peter have a body like that? This is the same Peter Parker that (insert reference to what a wimp he used to be).

(...)

Later, Norman would strongly deny having any interest in Peter Parker beyond monitoring the boy's relationship with his son. But the Goblin saw fit to remind him of that tantilizing little glimpse he got of Peter's exquisitely delectable young physique.

(Hm, am I still using the idea of Norman having exposed Pete to the super soldier serum immediately following the Spider Bite? Gobby can comment about how well the serum agreed with him. And, hey, that means it's probably safe to start using it on Harry.)

And Pete had already proven himself attracted to the Osborn genes, if his 'secret' activities with Harold were of any indication.

{"Have you considered the possibility that you're Stacy's Mom in this scenario?"}

'Absolutely Not!'


	7. Spider-Thief, AU, Bad!Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfinished. Self-Contained One-Shot. Inspired by another fic I read that was also sadly incomplete. Really, this is just a short draft I threw together to play with the idea of Villain!Peter, Hero!Norman and Victim!Harry.
> 
> (If anyone wants to volunteer to take this off my hands or co-write the rest, please comment or check my profile for other means to contact me.)
> 
> Peter Parker became a thief instead of a hero after the infamous spider bite gave him superpowers. 
> 
> In this AU, good and bad guy roles are reversed. Norman Osborn is a "superhero" while Petey is a "villain." And Harry is just an innocent bystander that Peter chooses to kidnap for personal reasons. 
> 
> If I were to continue with this, I would be very open to the possibility of things not being quite what they seemed, the "heroes" having their own secret agendas and perhaps Petey having been so thoroughly disillusioned that he became a criminal after his childhood heroes (the Avengers) were decommissioned and/or rounded up for charges of treason or something. (Or a few Avengers could turn up as villains, accomplices or competition.) Or for funsies I could totally combine this with another idea I had for an A/B/O fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Featured Characters:** Peter Parker and Harry Osborn
> 
> **Warnings:** kidnapping, casual villainy, sexual harrassment, rape threats.

#### Spider-Thief

Peter was an orphan. At the tender age of six years old, he lost both his parents. The police said that they were terrorists, that they were traitors. Richard and Mary Parker were scientists. They were supposed to be developing medical advancements (vaccines).

Instead, they created and absconded with a biological weapon, fled the country and intended to sell it to the highest bidder. And the part that hurt the most? They didn't take him with them. His parents left him behind.

Peter was placed in the care of his aunt and uncle.

In Peter's opinion, Uncle Ben was the biggest jerk in New York. And his Aunt May? A modern day saint who pissed him off almost just as much.

[Long story short, Peter was an angry child. When he got his powers, he became a villain - a thief.]

At school, Peter was an outcast. The closest he has to a friend is the rich brat that he lets copy off his homework. Sure, Harry was well-meaning and kind enough that Pete would almost call them friends, but Peter doesn't have any  _real_ friends. No one who really _knows_ him.

People look at him, the bad hair cut, the gangly limbs and baggy clothes, and they make assumptions. Poor, Puny Parker the sad little orphan boy, self ascribed outcast and classic know-it-all that's too smart to know what's good for him, probably thinks he's better than everyone else. Let them believe whatever they want about him, they're not entirely wrong. As long as no one discovers his secret or even begins to suspect what he's truly capable of, then Peter Parker will silently go about stealing the perfect life for himself. 

* * *

#### [Scene Transition]

Peter's most underrated ability had also proved to be the most useful. His special sense for danger, his _Spider Sense_ as he liked to call it, had given him enough advanced warning to escape some pretty close encounters with the police and New York's resident vigilantes. 

This time, it was the brilliant scientist turned mechanized cephalopod, Doctor Otto Octavius, teaming up with the billionaire turned superhero-hobbyist, Norman Osborn. They attempted to set a trap for the young spider-thief, and for all their efforts Pete still managed to swing away with a prize. But not the one they set out to bait him with. No, Pete hadn't risked going anywhere near  _that._ Peter Parker could sense that trap from a mile away. So, just to be petty, he'd decided to set his sights on something else. _Someone_ else. 

Norman Osborn's son made a convenient target. Going after Harold Theopolis Osborn would surely teach his old man a lesson: that Spider-Man was  _not_ to trifled with, because _this -_ this is what happens when you let these things get personal. Smart as he is, Norman should really know better. 

"Oh god, oh god, put me down," Harry had gone rigid in Peter's arms, probably too terrified to struggle, afraid the spider-thief would drop him.  _Not a chance._

Peter swung into the dark seclusion of a parking garage. The surveillance cameras had already been dealt with. This was the rendezvous point. "Don't even think about screaming," Peter warned him. "No one's going to come to your aid, and a web gag would take an hour, at least, to dissolve. In the meantime, it might get pretty hard to breathe, and believe me when I say my white gunk is going to leave a terrible taste in your mouth." 

* * *

#### [Scene Transition]

And it's not that Peter wants to hurt Harry, much as he enjoys watching the rich brat squirm. They go to school together and Peter quite likes having a well-to-do friend to occasionally mooch off of. Not to mention, the many ways that Harry has served as his unwitting accomplice, feeding him intel on Norman's plans, his movements, and the satisfaction of knowing the Iron Patriot's very real frustration after a successful theft of Oscorp technology. Peter didn't want to jeopardize any of this, but it had just been  _too_ tempting. He couldn't  _not_ grab Harry. Suppose that means he'd have to eventually find some way of returning Harold relatively unharmed, for the whole friendship charade to continue. 

Eventually. But after going through all this trouble to grab him, Peter should at least be allowed to have a little fun with him first before sending him home.  

* * *

#### [Scene Transition]

Pete designed his spider suit for two purposes, stealth and intimidation.  (And also, mobility, of course, but that hardly bares mentioning.) The fact that it contoured to his body perfectly and emphasized his sleek, high-energy sex appeal was just a bonus. 

The piece of tech he used to disguised his voice hardly seemed necessary under most circumstances. But he was glad to have it now. Better not to risk little Osborn learning the truth. After all, he didn't want to hurt him too badly, although... maybe Pete wouldn't mind having an excuse to keep him. Harry was actually kind of cute like this, tied up and helpless. Having Osborn at his mercy was a treat too good to pass up. 

* * *

#### [Scene Transition]

"What do you want?" Harold asked as soon as the webbing peeled away from his lips enough for him to form the words. "A ransom? Stealing isn't enough for you? Now you need to upgrade to kidnapping?" Harry was scared, downright terrified, but the fear did very little to help keep his anger in check.

Much as Peter liked Harry, it felt good to see his usually calm and cool classmate all worked up like this. 

"Oh, this isn't about your father's money." Spidey made a show of slinking around the room and chuckling, the sound of it very low, dark and foreboding through the voice modulator. "No, no, no. A prize like you is absolutely priceless. Son of my enemy." 

Harry's breath hitched. "So - so what? You're going to... are you going to make an example of me? Is that it?" For the first time, Harry considered the very real possibility that the villain was going to kill him  _on purpose._ (As opposed to accidentally dropping him or getting him caught in some kind of crossfire.)

"I have half a mind to, yes," Peter said it just to frighten his 'friend.' Harry was so scared he wouldn't know what to make of Spidey's sarcasm, if he even registered it as such. "Reaaally solidify my place in the underworld by demonstrating what'll happen to anyone who tries to stop me."

"You'd have better luck using me as a bartering chip. If you hurt me - kill me - then my father - he'll devote everything to taking you down. It won't be gentle. You'll be lucky to end up in prison after this."

"Ooh," Peter mocked him, "because your father is more inclined to stuff me in the morgue, huh? Is that it?" He laughed.

"He'd blow your body to bits. Reduce you to little more than a bloody smear."

"Yeah, that sure sounds like your dad, doesn't it? The _superhero_. Real - real fucking heroic, that guy." 

Peter wasn't sure what he wanted to happen here anymore. Honestly, it had seemed fun. In theory, when he first grabbed him. But he hadn't really considered all the repurcussions or what he was even going to do to the boy once he had him. 

He - Pete - well, he'd had fantasies before. About what he'd do if he ever managed to get the boy alone, at his mercy. There were a lot of things he'd like to do. Wasn't he going to hell anyway?

* * *

#### [Scene Transition]

"Rumor is," Spidey's hand crept under the hem of Harold's shirt, "you're quite the catch, Mr. Osborn." Harry didn't appear to be catching on to Peter's meaning despite the exceedingly obvious flirtation. Peter pushed further, only stopping when his fingertips caught on a pert nipple and _squeezed_.

Harry tried to jerk away, but the restraints didn't allow him the freedom to get very far.

"A very enthusiastic lover, I'm told." Well, hadn't so much been  _told,_ as he had  _inferred_ from Harry's popularity with his slutty sex-obsessed classmates. 

Harry wanted to spit at Spidey's masked face, the creepy bug eyed lenses made for decent sized targets. Instead he just scoffed, fearing punishment. "I don't know where you'd hear a thing like that," Harry stopped short of outright denying it. He wasn't about to admit to being a virgin, that was for damn sure. "My Dad - he has this funny way of scaring away any prospects. He doesn't even need to be in the room with us. People remember he's some - some badass superhero and they usually think better of fooling around with his son." 

Peter laughed, "Are you - are you threatening me, _again_?"  He asked, "Or do you - you really think that by bringing _him_ up, you can bring me down? Trying to turn me off? Is that - ha, is that your _plan_ , pretty boy?"

Harry clenched his mouth shut and glared. 

"Oh no," Peter nudged his masked nose against Harold's in a mockery of an eskimo kiss. "Don't stop on my account," he purred. "Keep telling me how mad your daddy's going to be. It's really - wow," Spidey sounded surprised, "it's actually really doing it for me. Almost like I can fuck you both at the same time." 

Harry's struggles renewed and Peter stood back a moment just to appreciate the view. 

"Just figured that out now, did you? Just realized that _I'm going to fuck you."_ Peter spoke real slow so he could enjoy the sharp uptick in Harold's squirming with each word. 

* * *

#### [Scene Transition]

_"Shh_ , shhh," Peter petted Osborn's hair. The gesture wasn't really meant to be soothing. What Spidey really wanted was to remind his captive that he could touch him however and whenever he pleased. "I'm not going to hurt you, not so long as you behave." 

Harry took in a sharp breath and let out a long, shaky exhale. His teeth were chattering. It was _f-f-_ fucking freezing in here. 

If Peter had planned ahead better than maybe he'd have thought to scrounch up some more blankets. 

_"Wh-wha-_ what, _d-_ did you _f-f-fo_ rget to pay _th-_ the -"

"I'm going to stop you right there," Peter cut him off. "No, I didn't pay the bill, because I don't own the building. It's _yours,_ actually. And by that, I mean it's your father's. It's actually a fairly recent acquisition of his. The whole place is condemned. I'm pretty sure the plan is to tear it down, but there have been some delays."

"You -" Harry's face twisted in outrage, "you've chosen to stash me in one my father's own buildings! Are you serious right now?" 

"Hey," Spidey gave the boy's knee a happy little pat. "Look at the bright side, I'm pretty sure this guarantees that someone will find you eventually, if anything terrible were to happen to me. They have to check the building before they blow it up." 

"For what it's worth," which probably wasn't very much, "I like you. I'd rather not see you stuck in some death trap. I'm not a bad guy. I mean, sure, I do bad things sometimes, but on the whole I'd say I'm pretty decent. Now your father? That man is a whole 'nother story." 

"Yeah, well, _for what it's worth,_ I don't care to listen to any monologuing that involves tearing my dad down. You don't know him."

"Well, certainly not in the same way that you do." Spidey actually managed to make that line sound dirty.

Harold grew more and more disgusted by this creep with each passing second. 

"Daddy's Little Princess."

Harry fought against the restraints binding him, growling, "You don't know what you're talking about. You - you -" Harry choked on his next words when the villain's hand landed on his throat and squeezed in warning.

"I don't want to hurt you," Spidey spoke through grit teeth, "but I will. If your behavior warrants it, I will  _delight_ in setting you straight." Spidey pulled his hand back with a bit of flair, gesturing excitedly and unexpectedly whirling up and around to his full height. "Which was a poor choice of words on my part. Actually, I'd much rather have an excuse to fuck you gay." Not a particularly creative or clever turn of phrase, but that hardly mattered. Peter contented himself with watching the way it made Harry's face pale. 

"You wouldn't," the words were so quiet and soft spoken that Peter almost didn't hear them. 

"Try me," Peter sneered. 


	8. Peter & Harry Talk Over Curly Fries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short Drabble I wrote in the comments of another story when I was attempting to put in a request. 
> 
> Oh, the story I posted the comments on was [Marvel's Spider-Man: Everyday Life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14214294) by [ShadowQueen01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowQueen01/pseuds/ShadowQueen01)
> 
> Update: [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14214294/chapters/32992692) is ShadowQueen's version of this prompt.
> 
> *Note: you can remove the color coding by hitting the **[Hide Creator's Style](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10758558/chapters/32782422?style=disable) ** button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure when in the timeline this would fall, but Harry doesn't know Peter is Spider-Man.
> 
> Also, I might switch between tenses a few times. Hopefully it's not too distracting. When I'm brainstorming ideas I tend to use the present tense but then I find it easier to edit and organize things better in past tense. My rough drafts always run the risk of being inconsistent in that way.

Peter Parker invited Harry to meet at their usual breakfast spot because he has an important question to ask him.

"Can you at least give me a hint as to what this is about?" Harry had asked.

"Nope," Peter responded, "it has to be in person. I barely even know how to put it into words, it's so confusing. Just be there, please. And I'm buying this time! It's on me."

"Okay, just don't be late."

But of course Peter is. Late, as usual. Harry can't even be mad, it's so common place, so expected. And there's just something about Peter that Harry can't help but forgive him each and every time this happens.

Of course, Harry already ordered while he waited. He's been wracked with nerves ever since Peter called to set up this little chat. Harry needs the distraction of a refreshing drink and some curly fries to keep from flipping out. He has some suspicions about what Peter might want to talk about. He's had these suspicions for a while now and he's invested a lot of time in thinking about how he'd react to this hypothetical confession.

Harry thinks Peter is going to come out, as gay or bi, he doesn't know for sure, but he's almost certain that Peter is into him.

And then Peter finally bursts in the door, shaking water droplets from his messy head of brown hair. Harry hadn't even noticed that it had started to drizzle outside. Then Harry actually manages to feel bad that he was getting impatient with Pete for being tardy when clearly the boy was suffering.

Peter bounds over to Harry's table as soon as he sees him. Like a wet puppy. Immediately, Harry's mood brightens.

"Sorry, I'm late."

Peter acting sheepish just makes him more adorable.

Harry smiles back. "It's no problem. Sorry, I ordered without you." Harry pushes his leftover fries to be situated evenly between them. "Want some?"

"Yeah, no, I'm good," Peter starts to refuse but then his tummy growls. Harry gives him a look and then Peter immediately caves to the demands of his stomach. "Yeah, actually... I am _really_ hungry. Thanks, Harry."

Harry watches Peter devour the rest of his fries, barely even breaking for air. It's only when the last of it is gone that Peter stops and opens his mouth to speak, but instead he says nothing and just stares at Harry's drink.

"Need something to wash that down?" Harry asks, amused. Peter nods dumbly and Harry slides his drink across the table. At first Peter looks like he's going to protest, but then Harry acts insulted by the possible refusal. "Don't worry, it's fine. I'm not sick and we're not six. I'm not going to give you coodies."

Peter scoffs, "of course not, only girls have coodies." And not only does Pete accept the drink but he nearly finishes the whole thing. "Wow, thanks," Pete says when he's done. "I didn't even realize how famished I really was."

"Must be because of all the extra exercise you've been getting recently."

Peter looks somewhere between caught and confused by Harry's comment.

"Cuz you're always running late," Harry clarifies.

Peter's laugh is a little uncomfortably forced but also incredibly relieved. "Oh, that, yeah..." he trails off.

"So what did you call me here to talk about?" Harry asks.

Peter's eyes refocus and then he quickly becomes preoccupied fidgeting with his hands. "There's something... personal, that I really want to talk about, and... I could use your advice."

"Okay, I'll bite." Harry leans forward, obviously interested in hearing Peter continue, but Parker hesitates. Harry searches for a way to ease the conversation along. "How about I fetch us a fresh round of drinks and put in another order for fries while you think about what you want to say?"

Peter lets go of a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. "That would be great, err, sounds great, Harry."

Harry gets up to give him a little space and fetch those refreshments. When Pete starts tripping over his common social script then he knows the kid is in trouble. Whatever's bothering Pete might be bigger than he thought. Hasn't Harry made it obvious that he likes Peter? Shouldn't this confession be easy? But then if it was easy then why didn't Harry just confess the way he feels about his friend himself? Ugh.

When Harry is handed the requested drinks and turns to return to their table he's greeted by a very determined looking Peter. It occurs to him that this is an ironic twist. Peter's gained courage roughly proportional to that which Harry appears to have lost.

"Here we go," Harry says as he hands Peter his drink and retakes his seat. "More fries should be out in a few minutes and I also added an order for a few sliders, since apparently you haven't eaten in days."

"I just burn a lot of calories, because I'm always running late."

"I literally made that joke five minutes ago."

Peter takes a wicked large gulp of his soda and almost chokes on it. "I know," Pete laughs after recovering enough to speak.

Harry just shakes his head. "So are you ready to tell me or what?"

Peter doesn't waste anymore time, he just blurts it out, "I think I'm in love."

Harry can't breath, his heart is racing so fast. No matter how much he'd thought about this, he still wasn't ready to hear those words. 'I like-like you,' or 'I maybe want to try dating,' but nothing so direct and unequivocal. Harry can't say or do anything to respond. He must look entirely dumbfounded.

"I think I'm in love," Peter repeats himself and he sounds even more joyous this time, even more sure of himself and the truth in that statement. "I am. I'm in love... with Gwen Stacy."

* * *

 

 _'No, no, no, this can't be happening!'_  Harry wants to scream.

"You... what?" Harry could barely get the words out. He half hoped that Peter would get sick of saying that, as if the agony of being forced to repeat himself would make the entire concept tiresome and lose its appeal. But of course love doesn't work that way and Peter was all too happy to say it again,  _with a smile._

"I'm in love _with Gwen."_

**_Ugh._** Peter might as well have just torn Harry's heart out and stomped it into dust. How could Harry have been so astoundingly wrong in his presumptions? He'd been so sure that Peter was going to ask him out. There had been so many clues - had Harry imagined them all? He must've completely misread all the signs. But for Peter to have secretly been into  _Gwen_ all this time...

"What? How? When? I mean, where is this even coming from?" \- _'And_ also: _why?_ And are you entirely sure of the _who?'_ Harry's thoughts were an absolute mess right now. 

Peter's excitement slowly died down as he considered how to answer Harry's questions, but the smile never left his face. 

Peter's smiles always used to tug up the corner of Harry's lips without him even realizing, but not now. Now, Harry can't stand the sight of Peter's smile while knowing it was meant for someone else. Someone who isn't even here right now. 

"I think it's been building up for a while now," Peter admitted. "She's so smart. I think I was really intimidated by that at first."  

* * *

 

Harry excused himself to go use the bathroom while Peter dug into the sliders and fries. Once inside, Harry cursed loudly and pulled out his phone. He stared at it for a hard second before furiously swiping through his contacts and dialing Gwen.  _Ring, ring, ri -_

"Hello?" Gwen sounded confused and a little worried. She wasn't expecting to hear from Harry and most of her friends preferred texting. "Harry?"

"Gwen!"

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I -" Harry really hadn't thought this through. "I just have an important question for you." _Ugh,_ is he really doing this right now?

"A question, huh? Gimme a second,"  she was probably at least elbow deep in one of her projects for Horizon. Harry tried not to let himself get distracted by imagining what sort of instruments he could hear fussing with in the background. "Alright, shoot," she invited him to continue after a soul-crushing sixteen seconds.

To his credit, Harry only hesitated for one sharp breath before he soldiered on with his question: "How do you feel about Peter?"

Gwen was silent at first. She hadn't known what to expect, but certainly not _that._

"Peter?" she asked as if she didn't even know who he was talking about.

"Peter Parker. Unruly brown hair, glasses, always running late," Harry spoke in a rush, impatient to get to the point before Peter caught on to how suspiciously long he'd been gone from their table.

"Oh, uhh..." Gwen wasn't sure what Harry wanted to hear, she was a little more focused on trying to figure out why Harry was even asking. "You know him better than I do. Are you trying to decide on a partner for a project or-?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Harry's eyes kept darting to the door half-expecting Peter to barge in looking for him. "Look, I'm just asking for a friend." Harry wasn't really sure if he was asking for Peter or using that as an excuse to ask for himself. "One that might be interested to know how you feel about him as... as more than a friend."

"Ew," Gwen couldn't repress her initial reaction, "Is this one of those, you know, boy-asks-another-boy-to-ask-out-the-girl-for-him situations?" She really hated those, they were always so dumb and cliché.

"No!" Harry responded maybe a little too quickly. "It's not like that. He didn't ask me. I'm asking you."

"And you care if I'm into him, because?"

"Because -" Harry looked at the door again and lowered his voice, "because I'm into him."

* * *

 

"Shut. Up." After three seconds of agonizing silence, Gwen's response shocked Harry. _"You're not._  Oh my god, you are. You,  _Harry Osborn_  are into - "

 _"Hey!"_ Harry tried to cut her off before she could say anymore,  " _Can you keep your voice **down**?"_  He was wary of who might be around to listen on the other side of the line. _What if Gwen wasn't alone? What if one of Peter's other classmates was with her? What if it was Miles?_ Calling Gwen was a **bad idea**. Telling her that he's _into Peter_ was an even _worse_ idea. There was no way Harry could keep it a secret now and who knew how Peter would react if he heard it from someone else!

 _"You like him._ Like actual _like-like_ him? That's _so_ adorable," Gwen could barely contain her excitement, but she was at least attempting to lower the volume so her words wouldn't carry.  "Wait, so... what does that have to do with me?"

 _'Good question,'_ Harry wanted to mutter, even more glum than before. He'd gotten so sick of listening to Peter gush over how amazing Gwen is that he hadn't fully listened to why Peter thought that he was meant to be with _her_ in the first place. Harry just kept obsessing over the fact that it wasn't _him_ that Peter wanted to be with. Harry was feeling a bit feverish with anger and jealousy just thinking about it, but he tried not to take that out on innocent and beautiful Gwen. This wasn't her fault. 

"I don't know why, but Pete - he, well, he kind of - sort of-" Harry squinted his eyes closed and regretted dialing Gwen's number at least twice as much as before. "He likes you, a lot, and he thinks there might be something there." 

"Oh," it was barely one syllable but it sounded to Harry's ears like she might be interested.

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth as he fought against his urge to outright demand that she back off. But it turned out that he didn't have to. 

"I guess you haven't told him yet, have you?" 

"Told him what?" Harry asked a bit too harshly. 

"You haven't told him how you feel."

"No, of course not. How can I tell him? Now of all times, when he's-" Harry wiped furiously at his eyes. Half convincing himself his allergies were acting up because his eyes began to sting and tear up in the corners. "He thinks it's love or meant to be or something. He's convinced that you're perfect for him and I'm not." 

"He said that?" Gwen was flabbergasted. "There's no way he said all of that."

"I'm not quoting verbatim here, but that's basically it. That's what he meant to say." Harry couldn't will the tears away anymore so he hurriedly shut himself in the disability bathroom stall. He gripped one of the handles for support while he leaned against the cold tile wall.


	9. Style Experiment, How to Win Friends & Influence People ch12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a style experiment. I made some edits to a chapter that's already posted in one of the other works. Lemme know if you like it or if it's too confusing. It's probably not worth the effort, but I think it's pretty. 
> 
> Basically, I'm just changing the font for thoughts and color coding for clarity and because it's pretty.

#### Norman Osborn Talks With Tony

The party was already in full swing by the time that Norman Osborn arrived. Which was just as well, these events were rarely ever very interesting. He just needed to make a quick appearance and zero in on a handful of guests in particular. He scanned the floor, keeping an eye out for the notorious L. Thompson Lincoln. {" **AKA Tombstone,** ** _The Big Man_** ,"} announced a wicked voice. The Goblin was in a belligerent mood tonight, upset with being reduced to passing idle commentary, and denied the opportunity to soar across the city wreaking havoc. { _"This is so boring,_ "} he complained, { _"We should be out **smashing** the Spider _ instead."}

_' **Quiet**._ I told you not to bother me when I’m working,’  Norman scowled at the way Gobby continued to whine, { _"Aw, li’l Normie is no fun anymore._ "}

The OsCorp CEO kept his posture straight and stiff, willing himself to ignore the intrusions and focus on locating Henry. He had plans which required his business attire tonight, and the flamboyant, flagrant chaos of his villainous counterpart would just have to wait.

Across the room, he finally found Henry. A young up-and-comer on the political circuit, on a career trajectory steeped in fanatical vigor and built on the wealth of his family and university contacts. Henry was tall, slim, with dark hair, glasses and a relatively handsome face when it wasn't twisting with rage.

Henry Peter Gyrich, Senator Robert Kelly’s Chief of Staff, a staunch critic of Tony Stark and a known opponent of the superhuman community. More importantly, a potentially very useful pawn in Norman’s plans. An ambitious man entrenched in the world of bureaucratic inefficiency and frustrated with the inadequacies of the government’s abilities to handle threats posed by the new rising class of ‘supervillains’ and their equally (if not _more_ ) _dangerous_ 'heroic’ counterparts.

First and foremost, Henry has access to classified information through his connections to the Senator and a few dozen NSA, CIA, and other governmental contacts that he’s acquired during his personal quest to gain support for the Avenger’s Accords and proposed Superhuman and Vigilante Registration Acts. Norman would be able to use Henry's help to chip away at Stark's empire and reputation. Optimistically, there would be opportunities to secure defense contracts and perhaps even develop his own part in overseeing a replacement to the now defunct S.H.I.E.L.D.

When Norman caught Henry's eye, he winked. It wouldn't be long before the eager boy would disentangle himself from his current conversation and make his own way to Norman's side. Meanwhile, Norman kept glancing around the room for...  { _" **The Big Guy**_ ,"} Goblin supplied a humorous little chuckle, {" **will have to wait.** Iron _Dick_ is coming, _ha ha hah_."}  It took effort not to glower at this unwelcome sight, as Anthony Stark was indeed fast approaching.

_“Aha!"_ the hero proclaimed in victory at having found his rival. _"Normie,_ I was wondering if you’d ever crawl out from your cave long enough to join the party. Even _you_ need to get out and _loosen up_ every once in awhile, _eh?"_  Tony's tie was haphazard and he had a drink in each hand. Norman was feeling anxious to dismiss him before his spritely other half would use this as an excuse to create an amusing distraction that could jeopardize his larger goals for the evening.

"Anthony, I hardly think this is an appropriate occasion for that,” Norman replied keeping his body half-turned away from Stark, still intent on remaining open in encouraging Gyrich to get his pasty little white ass over here.

Unfortunately, Tony persisted in annoying him by offering Norman a champagne flute, “Come on, _live a little,_ Normie-kins. It’s all for a good cause!” but as he said this, Stark didn't seem so sure of that. _"I think,_ eh, probably," he muttered under his breath. When Norman ignored the proffered drink, Stark finished it and set the empty glass aside.

{ _"Ah,_ he's forgotten what this event is even _for._ "} Goblin’s hypercritical commentary continued to step on Norman's nerves. “And do you even remember which cause that is?” he asked aloud, intending the question for the intrusive voice just as much as Stark, because truthfully, he himself had already forgotten. Whatever lousy charity it was seemed fairly inconsequential, all he’d really cared about was the guest list.

His question was met with a half-hearted shrug and a smug grin. "Cause for celebration, as far as I’m concerned," Tony's happy sentiment was undercut as he leaned forward to disparage in a loud, harsh whisper, "All of us wealthy bastards need to make ourselves look all good and charitable. I mean, that is why _you’re_ here, right?"  He continued with a short scoff, "It’s certainly not because an uptight, cruel industrialist such as yourself really cares about the little people and all their petty problems.”

{ _"For a genius, he's so small minded. Thinking to reduce the benefits of these events to public image alone, eh, Normie?_ "} Osborn's eyes had narrowed and his jaw tightened. Between Stark’s impetuous babble and his auditory hallucinations, he was developing a headache. He stubbornly glanced away from his _awful_ conversational companion in favor of feigning momentary interest in some minor commotion across the banquet hall.

_'Stark's supposed genius is largely wasted. Doused in alcohol, obsessed with chasing tail and preoccupied with minor tinkering. He does not think **big** enough,_' Norman quietly agreed with what his delusion had been saying. Although, none of that would be particularly bothersome to Norman if Stark's acquisitions didn't continuously squander talent and resources that would have better served OsCorp.

{ _"Oh, and not to mention the superhero antics, luring invading **aliens** to our city_ ,"} Gobby reminded him, { _" **Very bothersome**_."} Amidst the mental ramblings, Norman realized he'd let the silence linger so long that he risked allowing Tony to think he’d won this round. He consciously willed himself to relax his posture as he cut his eyes back to his opponent.  

"I do believe you were merely projecting your own frivolous rationale, Stark."

Tony pretended not to be affronted by this, but Norman's keen senses picked up on the way he stood a little more rigid in response, all wound up despite the effects of his champagne.

Norman continued, "While I am normally quite comfortable making quiet contributions, I’ve deigned to join this particular evening for the networking opportunities.” Stark seemed inordinately pleased with this turn in the conversation, which was something Osborn immediately hoped to find some means of rectifying. Norman raised an impeccable brow to say, "Perhaps I could give you a few pointers," his voice dropped a bit lower, so as not to be overheard by any easily offended parties, "the first tip is to talk to more than the bartender and every nice set of tits." Stark barely suppressed a small burst of laughter. Meanwhile, Gobby’s raucous amusement was accompanied by a phantom tugging sensation on the corner of Osborn's lips, tempting him to smile despite himself. His mouth twisted into a frown when he realized that the Goblin was subtly attempting to influence his physical behavior.

' **Go. Away.** _I can handle this myself. **Alone.**_ ’ Norman struggled to clear his mind of this lingering disturbance. The pesky little imp was especially difficult to shake when he made the mistake of feeding it any sort of encouragement. _'Damn troll,_ ' he wanted to grumble, but instead he gave into his alter ego's suggestion. For appearances sake, he played along with the game and graced his hated rival with a _mock_ -friendly smile.

"Ha! What do _I_ need to network for?”  Stark happily announced, "All of the talent and genius _naturally_ finds its way to **me.** ” Tony was grinning like he had a secret trump card up his sleeve. He hummed to draw out the moment and build anticipation before speaking again just as Norman was getting ready to interject with some haughty insult. "Oh, _for example,_ perhaps you’ve heard of an exceptional young student and photographer by the name of **Peter Parker**.”  Tony may as well have just poured a bucket of ice water over Osborn’s head.

‘Peter Parker. _**My** Peter Parker has been recruited by Tony Stark?’ _ Just then Norman wanted to slap the smile off that infuriating man’s face nearly as much as the Goblin, but he kept his face carefully impassive as he attempted to quell the building rage. It was difficult to say exactly where this surge of possessiveness had come from. His claim to the boy was tenuous at best, but Peter was the sort of son Norman wished he had. He thought they shared a special kinship. Hell, he was fairly certain that Peter was secretly dating his _actual_ son. Peter Parker was the heir that Norman Osborn _deserved_ , and he ached to see the boy properly trained for the role. Unlike Harold, Peter Parker had potential that might one day prove him worthy of carrying on the Osborn legacy.

_‘No,_ definitely not like Harry, _at all,_ if he’s proven to be so _disloyal._ ’ Blind, stupid faith and obedience were Harold's only reliable strengths, as far as his father could tell. Servile, useful as a pawn, but _not_ the sort of man that Norman wanted to eventually hand down the reign of his empire to. Harry wouldn't have the strength or stomach for it.

{" **Make them suffer for this,** "} the Goblin growled.  {"Stark and Parker are both _conspiring_ together, _against you._ **They want to hurt you. _Hurt them back._ Harder.** "}

Norman had to force down his anger for the moment, he needed to continue this conversation as if nothing was wrong. With a touch of humor sneaking into his tone, he incredulously asked, “So you’re recruiting **children** now?”

Tony was visibly disappointed at how well Osborn was keeping it together. He had been _so sure_ that he’d get Norman’s goat with this news. Stark was damn near pouting when he replied, “My sources said you expressed an interest in mentoring him.”

Norman allowed himself a small laugh at Stark’s expense.  “And which sources were these?” The tone clearly denoted skepticism as to the veracity of these claims. _‘If Tony thought to hire him only to **piss me off** , then I will not give him the **satisfaction** of seeing me bothered by this._ ’ Later of course, he may yet smash some very expensive things or more likely he’ll break the bones of whatever poor, unfortunate soul next wanders into the Goblin’s path of destruction. A thought that pleased his green alter ego _immensely._

Tony’s eyes lit up _again_ with more mischief. Norman thought to prepare himself better this time, to not let whatever this barely functional alcoholic had to say rile him. “That would be my _other_ new recruit,”  he said, and Tony’s voice was filled with so much disgusting pride that it nearly made Osborn feel sick. He bit the inside of his cheek and gave Stark an expectant look, inviting him to elaborate. Tony glanced down at his sparkling bubbly, taking a sip and savoring the flavor of his rival’s obvious irritation. _‘Delicious.’_ Stark nearly crooned with delight.

_“Oh,”_ this awful man even managed to _sigh_ _obnoxiously,_ “just _Your Friendly Neighborhood **Spider-Man.**_ ” The _knowing_ grin on Stark's face caused Norman to wonder for a terrifying moment whether or not somehow Iron Man had deduced his connection to the Green Goblin, to _know_ how much he would be irked at hearing this news. But his worry didn’t last for long as Tony continued talking,  “I believe you two have already met, haven’t you? Back when he was saving your ungrateful hiney from the Vulture and Doc Ock?” Of course, that was all, the only connections Stark could possibly know of. Norman’s relief was as carefully hidden as his earlier anger.

"Have there been any other more recent criminals crawling out of OsCorp?” Tony asked with a smirk. Norman drew in a sharp breath, wanting badly for a chance to eviscerate the cheeky bastard for that insinuation. Tony hastily brushed the errant thought aside. _“Oh,_ never mind, _as I was saying,_ Petey was always chasing after old Underoos and taking pictures. Even with a long scope lens the poor kid was winding up in some _sticky_ situations. So Spidey decided to look into him, they got to talking, you know, _science nerds.”_

“Does this rambling story eventually _lead_ anywhere?”  Norman asked, he was becoming very impatient. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Gyrich moving in their direction.

“Ahh, _well,”_ Tony continued almost as if Norman hadn’t said anything.  “When word got back to me that _you_ were tainting the impressionable minds of some gifted youth, I couldn't just stand idly by while you corrupted such a sweet, smart boy like Petey with your tutelage.”

Norman was glowering by this point. Simmering with quiet rage, he prompted Tony to finish his story, “So you stepped in _and?”_

“And offered the boy a job.” Tony happily raised his glass with this statement. After taking a long sip to empty his second flute of champagne, Tony shrugged. Pretending to amicably lean in and whisper a secret to old Normie-kins, Tony said, “I thought I’d let you know, in case _your son_ hadn't already. Figured you’d find out eventually and _I_ wanted to be there to see your _face_.” There was a long drawn out emphasis on the last four words. Stark wanted to drink in his rival’s ire, but Norman’s face turned to metaphorical stone, hard and unforgiving.

“So you've stolen my mentee out from under me. I am so utterly _devastated_ ,” Norman’s words were completely at odds with the unaffected tone of voice he used. “Now you hope to - **what** _exactly?”_ He raised a brow and gave a small, conceited sniff to express his disdain for Stark’s petty poor attempt at playing mind games.

Getting frustrated with Norman’s impersonal mask, Tony grumbled back,  “Just to use this tidbit as another excuse to remind you that while you may be one of the _wealthiest_ donors in the room, **I** can still _see right through you._ I know under all pretenses you’re morally _bankrupt_ , and **no** amount of money can ever make up for that.”

“Pot, kettle. Mr. Stark,”  Norman hissed back just as Henry Gryrich came to stand behind and slightly to the right of Tony Stark. It was high time Norman allow himself to vent some of his anger. _‘May as well take advantage of this opportunity to put on a little show for Henry. It could save some time later, if I can make my point now.’_

Norman fixed Tony with his full attention. The Goblin had _thankfully_  settled down somewhere in the back of his mind, cool and confident in Norman’s ability to fight this particular battle on his own. And also so dreadfully _tired_ of this conversation. { _"No boom, no bang, no blood, no fun, **why even bother?**_ "} it quietly lamented in the form of a distant echo that was easily ignored.

“I seem to recall a time not too long ago when you were running the helm of a _lethal_ empire. A _merchant of **death** ,_ and what’s more - _now_ you’ve taken the weapons into your own hands to wage war with a bunch of freaks masquerading as heroes? _Avengers,_ you call yourselves.”

“We’ve _saved the world. **More than once.** _ From what I hear, you have half a mind to try and take my place in the arms market.”

“It’s a dangerous world we live in. So I consider it my _responsibility_ to step in and manufacture arms to help prevent more of the global chaos you and your _friends_ have a tendency to incite.”

“Those _incidents_ ,” Tony interrupted in an effort to defend himself, but Norman would not allow him to say anymore.

“May not have been _entirely_ of your own making, but you certainly had more than just a hand in stirring the pot. Your _miraculous_ success in surviving the fallout so far may only be thanks to good luck and the general public’s _misguided_ desire to see you as a savior. How long can you hope that this will last? As the disasters **literally** keep piling up on your doorstep? Was it my own imagining or wasn’t Stark Tower at the very epicenter of an alien invasion _and_ the rise of Ultron.”

Tony’s face twisted with guilt at the mention of Ultron and his earlier happy mood was completely forgotten.

“As for Peter Parker. He is a smart boy, but unreliable. From what I gather, he can hardly keep his head on straight these days. Good luck wrangling that genius," Norman scoffed. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” Osborn readied himself to walk away, motioning for Henry to follow him, “There are other guests I’d like to speak with. Enjoy your drinks and babes, Tony. For you, I suspect the party is nearly over.”

Stark didn’t want to let Norman have the last word, but he was also definitely _not_ in the mood to have _that_ argument tonight. It would take too much effort to set the record straight. Frankly, Tony wasn’t actually sure the truth would necessarily weigh in his favor. He’d been reckless, stupid and he'd made some terrible mistakes. Other people had suffered for those mistakes. Stark still wasn’t sure what the _right_ choices would've been, given what he knew then or even what he knows now.  

The only highlight of this stupid party was bragging about his new recruits and really rubbing it in Norman's face that Peter was more interested in having Iron Man as a mentor. Despite how well Osborn had hidden his hurt, Tony was still _sure_ that he’d struck a nerve.

_'Hm, and Peter wants me to play nice with the Junior Sociopath. No, sure, Pete, I’ll just go ahead and invite the obvious evil degenerate son of Satan into my home, no problem.’_ Tony pasted on a fake cheery smile as he made his way towards the exit. _'Oh, I’ll make sure that little spy, Harold Osborn has plenty to run home and tell Daddy about. I’ll prove to Peter that neither of them can be trusted.’_

Meanwhile, Norman and Gyrich found themselves a relatively quiet corner. Not so far from the party as to seem suspiciously intimate, but enough to ensure a little more privacy.

“There was something you were hoping to discuss with me, Gyrich?” Norman asked. He was happy to note that Tony was making a quick departure. _‘That_ Iron Clown _had probably only dropped by with the intention of taunting me,’_ Norman thought as he watched Tony’s swift walk towards the exit. { _"What an Iron Ass!_ "} a tittering giggle erupted, { _"maybe you should try flirting next time, I think perhaps all he really wants is some nasty, angry sex._ "}

_“Yes,”_ Henry was straining to keep his inflection _appropriate_ for their current setting. Norman tried not to be startled by that, knowing that Henry couldn’t possibly have heard the Goblin’s suggestion. He’d gotten so distracted that he'd almost forgotten asking Gyrich a question.

“But I had hoped that we would be able to _speak_ together in private,”  Henry was giving him bedroom eyes as he said this. _'Horny fool is so easily seduced by the barest suggestion of my interest in using him.’_ Norman faintly wondered if he should tread carefully, lest the pathetic simpleton become too _greedy and demanding_ in his pursuit of continuing this affair.

Norman’s smile was confident, his voice all-business as he said, “I’ve already made arrangements, if you would like to meet with me tonight.” Of course, there was no real need to worry that Gyrich would overstep his boundaries. Norman was always the one in control. Henry wouldn’t dare cross him.

“Tonight,” Gyrich agreed, locking eyes with the older man and licking his lips.  { _"So eager,_ "} Gobby cooed in Norman’s ear, and he almost felt a tickle on the back of his neck.  { _"What special quality riles them so much that they all want to_ _ **fuck** with you? _ **Be _fucked_ by you. **_Hm._ I think you must remind them all of their fathers. So **stern** , so **strict** , and **firm** with the little boys. _Aw, my li’l Normie,_ all grown up and continuing the cycle of abuse. **Smack him one good for me,** right on his round li'l tushie, Normie, _darling_."}

But the Goblin’s inane commentary went completely ignored, Osborn’s face and body language remaining completely unaffected by the babble, through sheer force of will and many years of practice. Norman’s poker face was so effective, it may even beat out wearing a mask.

As he shook hands with Gyrich, Norman discretely passed him a keycard and whispered the room number in his ear. He pretended not to notice the way Henry’s hand lingered a little too long and an errant thumb sought to caress him as they pulled away from each other.

With Henry taken care of for the moment, Norman Osborn went off in search of _The Big Man._

* * *

#### Norman Osborn Talks With Tombstone,

After he located Mr. Lincoln, they shared a significant look from across the room, and Lincoln directed one of his associates to inform Norman Osborn of the private room intended for their meeting. _‘Best not to be seen together if we can help it, given the sort of allegations we're both trying to dodge. Although, I hardly think this is subtle.’_ Upon being given the instructions, Norman left the party and did his own thorough sweep of the room.

The Goblin couldn’t help but keep reminding Norman that they needed to destroy Mr. Lincoln, kill him, keep him quiet.  { _"He knows too much._ **He’s dangerous.** _He wants to hurt you._ **He’ll ruin everything.** _Loose ends need to be dealt with, Normie, you know that._ **Leave nothing left but his namesake,** _if even that._ **No,** _why bother?_ **Make the man disappear _entirely._** **Kaboom!** _Bang!_ One big burst of flame and _The Big Guy_ need never be heard from again! **Kill him, Normie.** **Do it.** _Now, now, now._ "}

_'Silence, Troll.’_ Norman raised a hand to briefly massage his left temple. The ache in his head had returned with a vengeance, particularly concentrated behind his eyes. With every incessant whisper it got worse. _'I have this situation under control,’_ he reassured himself. Norman was confident that he could handle this without getting blood on his nice suit. _'There will come a time to dispense with Tombstone, but not yet. He’s still more formidable than you realize.’_

{ _"You’re stronger, faster, more cunning and ruthless. You make this too complicated when the answer is simple. Just kill him!_ "}

_'Not yet. For now, I intend to play it smart, play it safe. Place the cloak before the dagger. You’ll have your chance to stab him in the back later. He’s obviously not a mere human, and we don’t yet fully understand the nature of his enhancements. Besides, dealing with the devil we know is likely better than whatever degenerate he may have groomed to take his place. He is the only thing that keeps his organization in any semblance of order. If he is gone, chaos will erupt before I have fully ascended. And you cannot possibly appreciate how damaging an uprising in the streets would be to my_ legitimate _ventures.’_

Reluctantly, the voices seemed to abate, relegated to quiet _‘boo’s_ and hissing sounds. There was an odd flicker of light seeming especially shiny and with no apparent source, as if there were an apparition in the room. Norman wasn’t sure at first if this was real or not, though the fact that it took on a greenish hue was a big clue.

As L. Thompson Lincoln finally made his entrance, Norman eyed him carefully from across the room. He paid close attention to Lincoln’s lack of reaction, just to be sure, and decided it must be nothing. _‘Probably just my mind playing more tricks on me. No need to worry about that light anymore than the Goblin’s persistent nagging.’_ The two guards flanking Tombstone stepped back into the hall after receiving a small nod from their boss, who shut the door behind them. Once they were alone, the door securely locked against intrusion, Norman broke the silence.

"So we're no longer bothering with a middleman now?” He was cross with the pale businessman. It was Lincoln that had invited him to this event, wanting to speak in person, and Norman did not appreciate being called out to meet with a man under criminal investigation. The small modicum of privacy and subterfuge did not reassure Osborn that their meeting would go unnoticed by all of the _dozen_ different government agencies still monitoring Mr. Lincoln’s activities.

“There are serious _concerns_ that I don’t trust middle management to properly address. I’d like to give you the benefit of the doubt, Mr. Osborn, but to do that I thought it best to see you myself. Face to face, to clear the air of any miscommunications before we can entertain the possibility of establishing a new intermediary.” _Ah,_ Tombstone wasn’t sure if the damage from Hammerhead’s betrayal was limited to the Valentine’s Day Summit or if perhaps that ugly stooge had taken measures to disseminate misinformation or otherwise taint his contacts prior to that disastrous evening.

“Whatever happened to your right hand flat top?" He asked, in reference to Hammerhead, Tombstone’s former number two, their old go-between. Of course, the Green Goblin already knew the answer to that. He had been the one to manipulate Hammy into betraying Tombstone when he arranged for three of the biggest Crime Lords in New York to have an epic showdown that dragged them all into view of the public, irreparably damaging Mr. Lincoln’s carefully crafted public persona.

Optimistically, he had hoped that they would all kill each other, but Spider-Man had intervened and kept the damage to a minimum. Still, it was enough exposure to send Doctor Octavius and Silvermane back to prison, while L. Thompson Lincoln’s operations were crippled after being placed under heavy surveillance.

'Crippled _, but not entirely defeated. They still function well enough to be bothersome. Tombstone knows how to play the long game, keeping his head down, conserving resources, finding powerful new recruits and leverage.’_ It would be terribly unwise to take the Goblin’s suggestion and attempt to rush him. Norman had already made the mistake of underestimating his timid former scientist, Dr. Otto Octavius, it was lucky that insufferable _genius_ never deduced that it was Osborn that had tried to kill him by interfering with his nuclear experiment. Making the same sort of folly with a man like Tombstone would likely have far more… _permanent_ consequences than the minor nuisance of Doc Ock’s bumbling _‘Master Plans.’_

Tombstone’s face had hardened at the mention of Hammerhead.  "He is no longer under my employ. Should you hear from him..." the implication was clear, even if Norman hadn’t already known the details.

"I'll let you know. Now, what was it that you wanted to discuss with me?"

"Word on the street is that your little _science experiments_ have continued under new management." _Ah,_ yes, Molten Man had made quite a bit of a noise when he got dragged off to prison. Stupid kid wouldn't have known that Osborn had anything to do with it. The scientists involved in the project wouldn’t have dared to cross Osborn or the Goblin. Blackie Gaxton could have spread the word of Norman's involvement, the bookie was only out for himself, but he was also probably too smart to risk double crossing a homicidal lunatic. _Then again,_ the Goblin was not very subtle, and how many other mad scientists out there have both the genius and wherewithal to play god by creating supervillains so easily? So perhaps it was just an obvious leap of logic for Tombstone to make the connection to OsCorp. There was hardly any use in wasting time denying it.

"Why should this even concern you? So long as my little projects keep your competition distracted, we both stand to profit."

"The competition has grown since our last dealings. As you know, my new... limitations have threatened my preeminent status in this new economy." Norman knew all too well both the cause and _the scope_ of these 'limitations.’

"And why should this concern me?" Norman asked.

"Because this green competitor doesn't play by our rules. It wasn't that long ago that you reassured my former associate that you had no dealings with this man. That you considered him a mutual threat."

"And I still do," Norman sought to reassure him, _"Believe me,_ I would rather work with you, but I simply cannot abide by your current circumstances."  He saw this was not going to be enough to convince Mr. Lincoln that his intentions had been - _well, not good,_ obviously, _but at least not counter to using basic common sense_. A quick decision needed to be made, what other explanation could he offer for his dealings with a crazed psycho that he had previously made claim to have a grudge against? The Goblin had attacked one of his scientists, wrought destruction in OsCorp facilities, stole tech and jeopardized his projects. What possible justification could he have for working with this lunatic?

Norman covered his face with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose and pressing his knuckles against his brow, where he could still feel his headache building. { _"I've threatened you,_ "}the Goblin supplied. { _"You would never trust a bribe from the likes of me, what could I even offer a man such as yourself? No, **I must've threatened you.**  Normie, you know exactly what you must say, _**if _you still insist on playing it safe._** "}

Norman allowed his guard to slip just enough to appear visibly distressed. His anguish at having to resort to this tactic was enough that he didn't have to pretend, only needed to resist the reflexive urge to _hide_ his discontent.  "Besides even that, _with the situation as it is,_ I -"  he hesitated, biting his lip to keep from cursing at the Goblin for suggesting this ruse. "I cannot afford to refuse this man's business."

“And what _situation_ is that, exactly?”  Tombstone leaned forward, scrutinizing the display of weakness, searching for any indication that this was some sort of misdirection, but he saw none that he could be certain of. He regarded the loss of Osborn's usual bravado to be highly suspect.

He knew Norman Osborn to be a very stubborn man. The type that wouldn't even flinch if someone held a gun to his head. _'Or dangled him forty stories high, soaring above the city and threatening to drop him.'_ That incident with the Vulture had been very _telling_ , even if he hadn't been there to see it himself. Tombstone had heard the story as old man Toomes had described it to his cellmates. Word got around prison and passed on high to him about a billionaire so stupidly stubborn that he would rather belittle the deranged man holding his  _life_ in his hands rather than attempt to negotiate. _'What could the Goblin possibly do to rattle such a man?'_

With a defeated sigh, Norman met Lincoln's cruel eyes. His voice was quiet and almost tentative as he said, “I have precious few family left.” The glimmer of grief and concern that Tombstone observed in Norman's blue eyes was achingly sincere, perhaps even more than Osborn himself realized.  _'Harry is_ all _that I have left.'_ His other relatives were distant and he preferred not to speak with any of them if they could be avoided. A fact he was sure the Crime Boss already knew, though he'd never mentioned Harold to this man before. He wouldn't have had to, it was this man's _business_ to exploit people's vulnerabilities. That Tombstone had never tried to threaten Harry before was probably a testament to how cold and uncaring Norman was prone to behave. Well, that or the fact that threats were not previously necessary to reach his desired ends when he'd had better means to acquire Norman's cooperation. 

“Your son.” L. Thompson Lincoln was carefully attentive to the flash of immediate and immense _regret_ on Norman's face when he said this. There was a heavy silence while Tombstone considered this. He generally regarded it as bad business to threaten families, particularly children, if it could be avoided. People became very stupid, reckless and unpredictable when their loved one's lives were on the line. It was messy and inspired more fear and anger than respect - forever tainting any working relationship.

Unfortunately, his business was in a steep decline, taking a heavy hit from both the heroes and the new gangs attempting to force him out. _ 'I can't afford to go soft, much as I loathe to consider this, it may be my best option to keep Osborn on my side or at least convince him to stay out of my way.'_

Osborn's mind was busy conjuring images of his son being dragged away at gun point, tied in chains, thrown in a trunk, riddled with bullets, dropped in a ditch or sinking to the bottom of a river. _ 'I shouldn't be dragging the boy into this. He's going to get hurt.'_ Imagining the loss hurt more than he expected it to, in ways that he scarcely even considered before he foolishly took the imp's suggestion. In this moment, he was afraid, but not of Tombstone's threats. The flickering emerald light was beginning to take the shape of a gremlin. Norman feared that his control of the Goblin was slipping.

{ _"_ ** _Too late._** _Better him than us._ **Our plans are more important. _There was no better excuse,_ _genius,_** "} the smug tone of the green beast disturbed him. { _"He's only a stupid stooge, anyway_ ,"} Gobby reminded him. { _"or so you keep insisting..._ "}

Norman had to clench his fists resolutely against his sides to keep from reaching out in vain or trying to strangle the stone cold killer across from him. His gaze was fixed over in Tombstone's direction to suppress his reaction to the Green Goblin's _presence_ in the room. _'I didn't waste seventeen years raising him to just throw my investment away like this. Mentioning him like this is practically tantamount to painting a target on his back and pushing him out into a shooting gallery.'_ He was both glad for Tombstone's contemplative silence and angry with the Crime Boss for dragging out this moment. He itched to pull his blank mask back into place, but he needed to sell the story now that the damage was already done.

“Harold is hardly fit to fend for himself. He's defenseless against the likes of this - _this homicidal freak show._  There's only so much I can do to protect Harry, and he is my _only_ child. _You must understand._ I would do whatever is necessary to protect him,"  fierce worry and even a hint of desperation bled into Norman's tone. 

Lincoln was unable to sense a lie in this, because there was none to find. Norman already knew the threat that the Goblin posed to Harry, and knew it very well since before his son even learned to walk. The gremlin had always wanted to hurt whatever displeased him, and had often tempted Norman to violently silence his baby's cries. He'd often had to leave Harry in the care of nannies, butlers and tutors to ensure his safety, lest he risk losing himself to the Goblin's suggestions during a moment of weakness.

_“I understand,"_ Lincoln told him,  his well-meaning business like tone suddenly dropped into something deeper and much more sinister, "but I shouldn’t have to remind you that I still have means for seeking similar retribution, _restrictions be damned._ Allying yourself with this _wild card_ will not protect you or your son.” The warning was enough to bring Osborn back to his senses, reminding him that the current threat was in front of him and he would have to find better ways to manage his creeping alter ego  _later._ For now, he needed to focus on Tombstone. 

“Are you threatening me, Mr. Lincoln?” Norman asked, and his fear seemed to have vanished. He was all bravado, brash and overconfident again. Attempting to stare down his opponent. The change was so sudden that Tombstone was tempted to laugh. Lincoln had already seen a chink in Norman's armor and he was metaphorically sharpening his blade and preparing to take aim. 

_“Do you feel threatened?”_ Tombstone’s tone was dangerous. Norman felt as though his skin was crawling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Goblin creeping closer, bearing sharp teeth and talons. He knew it was a delusion, but it went beyond his sight and sounds. The Goblin wasn't just in front of him, it was _inside him,_ and it was attempting to claw through his flesh and free itself to seek vengeance, or so he imagined. _'It's not real.'_ Norman took a deep, steadying breath.  _'I'm the one in control,'_ he reminded himself, and he felt himself bursting with sudden rage at being forced into this position.

“What would you have me do?” Norman’s voice was angry now. He'd already made himself seem vulnerable enough, but it would be completely out of character if he allowed this pale thug to walk all over him. He may have feared the Goblin's willingness to hurt his innocent child, but he could still bear his fangs against other predators that would try to hunt him down.  

There was a tense silence. Both men carefully assessing one another. 

"Help me take the Goblin down," L. Thompson Lincoln was done beating around the bush. He was glad to see Norman's composure return, if only for the fact that he thought he could reason with him better in this state.  

The apparition of the moss colored gremlin was still dancing in the corner of Norman's vision. It laughed, loud and shrill. { _" **Oh, Normie**!_ "} it said, { _" **What** **fun this game is**!"_ } Osborn had to suppress a smile. His expression turned pensive.

"How?" he tempered his sudden enthusiasm with a wary sort of hesitance. _ 'Yes, tell me how exactly you plan to take me down...' _

* * *

####  **Norman Osborn Talks to Himself,**

When Tombstone and Osborn wrapped up their meeting, they had set plans to share information while they conspired against their green foe.

“I’ll show myself out,” Norman Osborn’s poker face was impenetrable as he excused himself. Before he left the building entirely, he found himself facing a bathroom mirror and trying to will the visual hallucination away. It stared at him from over his shoulder, leaning towards his ear and whispering.

{" _He’s suspicious, doesn’t believe you. **He won't trust**_ **you** ,"} the Goblin taunted him. 

_'He expects a double cross, certainly, but he does not suspect the truth.'_

{ _"What's the difference? **He intends to harm you.** Whatever plans you share, he wont tell you everything, there will be contingencies_."}

_'He will attempt to set a trap, but I will be ready for him. I can be sneaky, too.'_

{ _"And when he attacks Harry?_ _ **You know he will.**_ _After the way you dangled the boy like bait in front him._ "} The Goblin's shrill laughter was especially grating tonight. Norman felt sick.

Norman kept his eyes fixed in front of him and focused on his remaining objectives. _He was exhausted._  He wanted for nothing more than his bed, but there was still much to do tonight.

{ _"Catch that second wind quick,_ Normie. Henry is not going to fuck himself. Or, _well,_ I guess he probably would, _he may even be doing it right now._ He definitely seems the type that would get impatient waiting for you to _show the fuck up._ "} 


	10. Style Experiment How to Win Friends and Influence People ch3

#### Great Expectations,  
A Car Ride Confrontation

Norman was on a call when he finally joined Harry at the elevator. Always busy. Calls, emails, meetings, experiments, research papers, _work, work, work._ And in the event that he ever had any free time, there were still more important things to attend to. Harry did his best not to obviously sulk as he followed his old man into the elevator. In his effort not to eavesdrop, Harry pointedly kept his eyes on the wall and missed how his father watched him, surreptitiously sparing the boy glances from the corner of his eye.

By the time they made it to the car, Norman had wrapped up the call, but was still preoccupied with checking something on his phone. Once they were finally settled in for the ride, it must’ve taken five whole minutes of silence before Norman slipped the device into his pocket. After a cursory look and a frown over the teen’s slouched posture, Norman stated simply, "You wanted to talk.”

With barely a moment’s hesitation, Harry nodded, quickly jumping into the lines he’d mentally prepared, "This year is going to be different, Dad, _I promise._ No more slacking off. I’m going to hit the books even harder than Pete.”  The insistent, hurried words had the opposite of their intended effect. His father scowled. Harry stiffened, pushing himself up in his seat to sit straighter. The teen wished so badly just then that he could know what Norman was _really_ thinking, because every possibility his mind conjured was crushing his soul. _‘Dad has to know that I’m serious this time. Confidence. Must project confidence.’_ Harry clasped his hands in his lap to center himself, taking a slow deep breath to calm his nerves as he forced himself to meet his father’s icy blue eyes.

“So you’ve said, for several years running,” Norman never could resist the urge to remind Harry of his past failures. “I’m not taking your word for it this time.”  As his father continued to glower, his tone became more thoughtful. Reflective. "Have I been too lenient?” At this, Harry wanted to snort or guffaw, because _'lenient’_ was not a word he’d ever used to describe the man sitting across from him.

"In an effort to avoid coddling you, perhaps I gave you too much freedom. I wanted for you to be self-sufficient,” Harry’s gaze drifted to stare hard, just over Norman’s shoulder.

_'Freedom from what? From love, affection, and guidance?’_ Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from interjecting.

"I tried to give you room to grow, but given enough rope you seem destined to hang yourself." That remark _hurt_ beyond measure.  "I see now that it’s the absence of boundaries that has led us here. You just don't know what to do with yourself when no one is there to hold your hand.” Norman’s pretend sympathy ended with his statement, the pensive expression melting into an ugly sneer.

Harry couldn't help but think of the many times he had found himself wishing for something as sweet as death. For various reasons, although more often than not he had imagined suicide merely as a way to express the intensity of his pain rather than simply a means to end it. For as much as he tried to hide his suffering, he secretly yearned to have it acknowledged.

_'Would Norman Osborn grieve for the loss of his only child?'_ Would anyone really miss him? Dad would finally be forced to notice his absence, to at least confront it at the funeral. In the end, would Norman regret neglecting his son? What about all the times he demeaned Harry for matters as trivial as homework? Harry wasn't ready to answer those questions, and he resented the way his father had so casually alluded to the possibility of his eventual suicide. He didn’t know if his father knew how close that comment hit to home, but he was furious with the implication regardless.

_'And what's so bad about wanting someone to hold my hand? Why should I have to be alone? Every time I've ever tried to get close to Dad, I've come up against a wall. There have always been boundaries on his affection. What more will he deny me?'_

When Harry suggested this talk, he'd imagined this going quite differently. He should've realized, he _should've known better_ , because it was foolish to ever blindly hope for kind treatment from Norman Osborn. His father was not a kind man, he'd known this for years, but _still_ Harry couldn't help but hope that Norman would make an exception _for him_. The father-son relationship had to mean at least _something_ to the older man, because it meant _everything_ to Harry.

"Right, _well_ , seeing as how your hands are always so full, do you expect me to believe that you only intentionally neglected being there for me as a vote of confidence in my ability to raise myself?”  Harry’s arrogance had returned, call it a favorite self-defense mechanism against Father’s unrelenting criticism.

"A confidence you never felt compelled to communicate. Where in all the lectures about _how much I disappoint you_ was I meant to get the impression that you ever believed that I could make it on my own?” Harry paused to take a breath, the volume of his voice had raised involuntarily and he needed to dial it back down before the entire talk devolved into shouting. He had tried to mask his rage with a flippant tone, but his accusations were no less fierce for it.

_“Gosh,_ cuz it’s not like parents have a responsibility to actually guide their children with a little more direction than just barking orders and laying down unreasonable expectations.”  The very moment he had completed this rant, Harry refused to let himself regret it. The urge burned strong to try to take it back, but he would _not_ be cowed by his father’s angry glare.

“Unreasonable, are they? Tell me, Harry, what is so _unreasonable_ about expecting you to do more than the _bare minimum_ to pass your classes? _Hm?”_ Norman paused, one eyebrow raised tauntingly, inviting Harry to think of some way to justify his subpar academic performance.

_'Ouch. Okay, Dad’s got me there. How can I possibly explain how difficult things have been without actually explaining anything.’_ He gave up trying to stare his father down, swallowing hard. No explanation was forthcoming, so he just sat quietly. His anger withering into shame under Norman’s intense scrutiny.

“You should be making goals for yourself and some real, measurable progress towards success. But instead, just what have you been doing with all your free time, Harry?” 

_'I’ve been crying, lurking on forums, trying out all the suggested coping mechanisms, researching self-defense, building a social support network, making friends, and shame-masturbating. I haven’t had the spoons to handle all of my schoolwork by myself, something always seems to remind me of Eddie and I just fall apart. I can’t tell Father any of that.’_

"I - well, _shit,”_ Harry shrugged, "you got me there. I’ve just been wasting all my free time with fucking around, playing games, socializing and generally living the teenage dream.” Resorting to sarcasm would surely just be digging his hole deeper, but he couldn't help himself out of this one anyway. If he adds enough fuel to the fire, maybe this whole mess will just flame out. _‘Or if I can cool my head and try to at least_ appear reasonable _, maybe there’s a chance I can still save this catastra-fuck. Change of tactics it is, then.’_

_“I’m only seventeen,_ Dad. My brain’s not fully developed, so I’ve got some issues with impulse control. But I’m telling you that I’m _committed_ to making better choices this year. I just, I struggle to stay focused on my schoolwork.” Admitting to personal weakness is usually just as good as admitting defeat in an argument with Father, but this is just scientific fact. He has to appreciate that, right?

“Perhaps what you need is someone to help hold you accountable and keep your focus where it should be.” Norman looked thoughtful again, considering the options, and it made Harry feel just a little bit queasy. "Your friend Peter has a lot on his plate lately, do I need to arrange for another tutor? Edward Brock has mentioned that his son, Eddie, generously expressed a desire to patch things up,” Norman had no idea what had gone on between the two of them, but Harry’s grades had taken a very sharp decline after the conflict devolved into an on-campus fist fight that had gotten both boys expelled.

In response to hearing Eddie’s name, his son paled, visibly sweating and wringing his hands. Obviously horrified by the suggestion. Norman wondered why, suddenly very curious. There had been other more pressing concerns at the time, so he’d easily dismissed the fight as ordinary adolescent drama brought to extremes by Harry’s poor impulse control. But for Harry to still be so affected after all the time that had passed? Very curious. "You never did say what that fight was about.”

Harry shook off his stupor, vigorously whipping his head side to side,  _“Nothing. We fought over nothing. And no,_ that’s _really_ not necessary. If I need the extra help, I can make my own arrangements.”

"You kicked the shit out of each other over nothing?” Norman’s tone was flat, holding only the barest hint of a question, the intonation dominated by an underlying accusation, _'you’re lying to me. Why?’_ The older man’s intense, undivided attention was easily terrifying in this context. As if the force of his gaze alone could tear through Harry’s brain and retrieve whatever answers he sought. Harry had to duck his head and look away to dismiss the ridiculous notion that his father had secretly mastered legilimency.

_"It was stupid_ , okay?”  Harry was beseeching his father to, please, drop the subject. _‘Definitely not okay,’_ Norman decided, furious that Harry was keeping secrets from him. As little as Norman cared about his son’s life, he still liked to keep track of the details he deemed important, and this appeared to be of some import.

"Of course it was, Harry, and you both got expelled for that stupidity.” Norman audibly sighed. His son was distressed, pushing him any further might only cause him to shut down completely and further delay answers. It was time for a subtly lighter touch, “Clearly you’re still affected by what happened. So forgive me if I want to know what’s been bothering my son.” A perfect balance between frustration, exasperation and a not altogether unbelievably benevolent offer of support.

Harry still didn’t want his father to know, but he very suddenly wanted to confess everything. This was as close as his father ever gets to offering comfort. For so long Harry has desperately wanted to be enveloped in the warmth of his father’s arms, to be gently rocked, with soothing circles rubbed into his back, to hear his father’s commanding voice softening to tell him that it wasn't his fault and reassure him that everything would be okay, Eddie would pay for what he'd done. If he would just confess, Harry would no longer find himself lying awake at night worrying that this terrible secret would be discovered. _'It would finally be over.’_

But if his father ever realized all that they'd done together… _‘No.’_ He barely got to spend time with his father now. If Norman knew everything, he'd never want to so much as look at his son ever again. Harry would never see him, he’d either be kicked out onto the street or sent somewhere very far away. He couldn't tell him. _'Not now, not ever.’_ Harry felt as though he would die if Norman ever learned the truth.

"It’s really not worth rehashing. Dad, I just -” _'Lie, lie, lie, like your life depends on it. He cannot find out.’_ Harry sighed, sounding defeated, "I have no desire to reconnect with Eddie. That bridge is better left burned.” He worried his bottom lip, struck by the knowledge that his father rarely respected his decisions. Norman could often and easily dismiss Harry’s requests, no matter how humble or desperate. _"And_ \- and I really don't think you should ever entertain the idea of hiring him. Because of reasons,”  Harry added, almost as an afterthought, concerned with the possibility that his father might use that as an excuse to arrange for a reunion. He didn’t think Father would be so cruel, but it never did pay to underestimate how ruthless the man could be.  

"Reasons that you won't share with me."  Norman’s displeasure was weighing heavy on Harry’s shoulders. This secret wasn’t trivial by any stretch of the imagination, and it was never really going away no matter how hard Harry wished he could just forget. The teen had to strain to keep his shoulders from sinking back into a defensive slouch. _‘Must feign confidence, at least until this is over. Dad can sense weakness and he rarely hesitates to exploit it.’_

"You -” unable to completely swallow the lump in his throat, Harry had to speak around it and hope his voice didn’t sound too choked up, "You really don’t want to know, trust me on this. _Please,_ I don’t want to talk about it.”

Norman Osborn was carefully assessing the boy’s anxious gestures, solidifying his suspicion that it had been a mistake to dismiss this conflict so readily before. As much as it loathed him to admit, he would need to pay closer attention to his son. “What if I took the question to Eddie?”

"He’d tell you lies or insist that you ask me. But I’d prefer to never speak of it ever again. _Please,_ Dad, drop it. Really, it’s so _stupid_ and you don’t really need any more ammunition to drive home the point of what a disappointment I am to you.”

Disgusted and _frankly annoyed_ by the dodge, Norman thought to himself, _‘So the stupid boy has developed a complex.’_ He would not acknowledge or regret how his harsh treatment of Harry was likely to blame for it. _'Whatever had happened, Harry must’ve been complicit in it to some degree, to be this ashamed of it.'_

"The matter is far from settled. I will find out, eventually, whether you tell me or not. But since we’ve nearly arrived, we’ll have to continue this later tonight.” Norman’s statement was punctuated partway by an insistent buzzing. With a small huff of annoyance and a last dismissive glance at his son, Norman retrieved his phone from his pocket. Without looking up, Norman wore his best put-upon look, the face of the exasperated parent nearing the end of their patience, "And do try to compose yourself, Harry. Quit your whining, dry your eyes and resist the urge to punch anyone today. Let’s not start off the school year with _another_ tantrum.” 

_'Oh, fuck off, Father. I don’t need any of this right now.’_ Just as soon as the car came to a complete stop outside the entrance, Harry opened the door. As he stepped out, he turned back to get the last words,  "Yeah, _love you too,_ Dad. Don’t work too hard. _Oh,_ and how about you try not inciting any _more_ disgruntled employees or competitors into a life of violent super-criminal behavior? Okay, great, _bye.”_

* * *

#### #SquadGoals

#####  **Senior Year Begins,**

Harry had arrived early enough to have half an hour to kill before the first class started, so he quickly tracked down Gwen and MJ finishing their breakfast in the cafeteria. "Peter here yet?”  Was the first thing he asked, after greeting them. Gwen gave him a smile and MJ quickly beckoned him to sit next to her so she could wrap an arm around his shoulder. She could always sense when he needed a hug, which was most of the time, so maybe that wasn’t all that impressive.

"No, probably up late chasing Spider-Man again,” Mary Jane shrugged off their friend’s tardiness like it was nothing. She was cool like that, always very go with the flow and forgiving of people’s shortcomings. Harry had gotten to know her even before befriending Peter. She was the most beautiful girl in school, the biggest drama nerd ever, and immediately after transferring to Midtown Junior High he’d made it his personal mission to collect her in his entourage. The original intent had just been to ward off getting dubbed ‘Fairy Osborn’ all over again, but somewhere along the line they’d become besties.

"Actually, we were texting last night and he mentioned having some big news that he wanted to share with all of us in person. Any idea what that's all about?” Gwen asked, a hint of a frown on her face as she watched the way Harry leaned into Mary Jane’s touch and MJ squeezed him tighter.

"Oh, um, no?” There was an awful pit in his stomach at the mention of this. _Big news,_ when does that ever mean anything good? He’d already had such a shitty start to his day, he didn’t dare hope for the best, so he tried to prepare himself for the worst. "He hasn’t said anything to me about much of anything lately. I feel like we’re drifting apart. _He’s been so busy.”_ Okay, that sounded a lot like whining, but he felt entitled to gripe about this at least a little bit.

Luckily, Mary Jane knew how deep his distress over this went, having discussed abandonment issues with him in depth during many of their late night Secret Daddy Issue Club Meetings. "Hey, don’t worry about that, Hare. You know how absent minded Pete can be. I have a feeling we’re all going to have to try harder to make time for each other. This is our _last year_ together at M cubed, we’re all going to end our High School careers on a high note, that’s a promise.”

"You mean right before we all part ways for college?” Harry sought MJ’s hand, reaching across himself to hold it in place where it rested on his arm. He was always so starved for physical affection and Mary Jane was happy to accommodate. _‘Better than therapy. Or I imagine it is. Dad nearly flipped the one time I got up the nerve to suggest seeing a shrink or family therapist.’_

_“Hush._ Don’t you dare say such things, Harry Osborn. We’re all going to stay friends forever, you know that. _No matter what happens,_ the four of us are going to be best friends for life. Hashtag Squad Goals.” Harry kicked her under the table and she giggled. Gwen was ineffectual in smothering her grin from across the table, rolling her eyes at the sentiment.

"I hope you know I’m going to hold you to that,” Harry warned, wiggling to bump shoulders and lightly sway in his seat with his bestie.

"Yeah, well, you’d better. I’m not letting you go that easily.” Mary Jane gave him a quick wink before turning her attention to their pretty, wicked smart, blonde friend. "And that goes double for you, Gwen Stacy, don’t think you’re going to ditch us when you run off to some big fancy University.” Mary Jane and Harry both reached across the table to grab at Gwen’s hand, but she swatted them both away.

"How are you both the most envied kids in this school when you’re the biggest dorks ever? I can’t even. _But yes,_ I’m all in with this silliness. Friends for life. Promise.” Harry beamed a thousand watt smile and Mary Jane stuck her tongue out, both immensely pleased with Ms Stacy’s totally official statement. The two drama students exchanged fast cheek kisses before vowing to regroup during lunch, and they all separated so they could mingle with some of their other classmates before the bell rang.

Gwen wore a bittersweet smile as she watched them leave. This group of friends made her life that much more interesting, but also _that much more difficult._ Not even to mention Peter and his Spider-Man antics. She really hoped that he was okay. Since she discovered his dual life, it’d been impossible not to worry about that stupid brave genius. Taking on super-villains _and_ high school _and_ a job to try to help take care of his Aunt. That boy was going to burn out, especially if he kept all this up on his own.

* * *

#### Secret Identities

#####  **Flashback to Junior Year**

Gwen came up with the excuse of a ‘study session’ to get Peter Parker alone at his place while Aunt May was away. She dropped her book bag by the coffee table, sat heavily on the couch and stared at him with an intensity that put Pete off balance. _“So…_ did you want anything to drink? A snack before we get started?”  He nervously chewed his bottom lip, wondering what this was really about. He had a feeling that he was in for a grueling lecture. Ms Stacy’s speciality, Ms Queen of the Debate Team.

"Peter, _**I know**.”_  Oh, no, this couldn’t be about _that_. He was just paranoid. Surely there’s some schoolyard mischief that he’d forgotten about after all the chaos in the streets lately. But she had gotten the opportunity to get up and personal with Spidey fairly recently, and she’s very probably a genius in her own right. If he had been nervous before, he was panicked now. _‘Just play it cool, Web-slinger.'_

"You know... what?” He asked, pretending to feign ignorance and innocence of something he really had no clue about. Their drama friends would be so disappointed in his poor effort. Surely she’s just about to accuse him of some stupid prank, thinking he’d been involved in MJ and Harry’s latest mischief, probably. "Exactly what did I do this time? If this is about -” But before he could conjure some stupid story, she gave him _the look_ and the words died on his tongue.

"Spider-Man. Pete, _I know_ you’re Spider-Man.” Her tone left no room for argument. She was completely totally serious and convinced of this fact.

"Wha- what? _No,_ me? How could I - _I couldn’t be._ I’m not -” His rambling denial felt pathetic, even to his own ears.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "And even if I hadn’t been sure before, your face now would just confirm it. _You're Spider-Man.”_ Her matter-of-fact tone dropped off into awestruck. One of her best friends is a Superhero. And they’re both still in high school! How did this even happen? The powers, the costume, _the gaggle of supervillains and gangs out for his blood…_ she had so many questions, but she wasn’t going to get answers if she overwhelmed him with all of them at once. Having him admit the truth would be a start.  "I’m not going to go shouting your secret identity from the rooftops, Pete. I haven’t even told my dad. I understand why it’s a secret.”

"I - well, thanks, I would appreciate that, but I am _not_ Spider-Man. I just take the guy’s picture. Logistically, how would I even be able to do that if I was him, _ha_ \- have you thought about that? And - and where would I find the time? I'm over here literally - _literally_ \- drowning in homework." He pulled a series od increasingly incredulous faces but she only seemed to get more serious.  "Haha," he laughed without any sincere sense of humor, "How - _why_ would you ever even suspect liytle ole me of something so ridiculous?"

Gwen gave him a hard stare. He squirmed. _'So he's going to make this difficult. No matter.'_ She’d come prepared to force a confession if she had to. She was the daughter of a police captain, after all, so she figured she knew a thing or two about how to run an interrogation.

With an exasperated sigh and a roll of her eyes, she mentally prepared herself to lay out the evidence, _"Come on, Pete,_ you’re only further proving my point."

_"What? How?_ I'm pretty sure this is the normal reaction to being accused of being a superhero."

...

"But I'm not that kind of guy. You know me. You remember how I freaked out and totally bailed during the Lizard incident, right?"

"Oh, I _remember_ how you bailed so you could go suit up and stop him." 

"No, I -," Pete waved his hands around uselessly, completely failing to think of a good lie.  "The pictures, for the Bugle's contest, remember? Remember how I selfishly took advantage of the opportunity for personal gain?" He hated bringing that up but it was his only viable defense. Pete still regretted how little he thought about the impact those pictures would have when he sold them. It somehow never occured to him that he was exploiting the Connor's personal tragedy until after the fact. 

" **No,** " Gwen shook her head. "No, I don't believe that." Gwen lost a lot of her excitement but none of her fierceness. She was determined to get to the truth. "I remember I really struggled with that at the time. I know you, Pete. And You're just not that kind of guy. If you were, you'd have sold out some of Harry's secrets to the tabloids by now. You're not the kind of person that bails on his friends during a crisis. You’re not even the kind of guy that stands down from helping out a stranger when it’s the smart move. And yet every time there’s a big emergency, you disappear.” He opened his mouth to object, but she shushed him.

_Ugh,_ his denials were completely hollow and they both knew it.

"The gene cleanser that cured him was _your idea._ You can’t convince me that you ditched out helping synthesize your brilliant solution to a d-list movie monster come to life because you had to make _curfew_."  Now that she said it outloud, it did seem rather ridiculous. How could anyone - especially Pete - skip out on that once in a lifetime opportunity. "And you can't say you were scared, because chasing after the Lizard was way more dangerous than what we were doing back at the lab. But _oh, since you brought it up,_  I _still_ consider selling those pictures to the Bugle to have been a massive breach of trust with the Connors,"  she paused to let that hang in the air for just a second. "But I guess I understand why you had to do it."

Peter allowed himself to feel hopeful, to let that statement assuage some of his lingering guilt. But then she just had to keep talking.

"The suit and all the webbing must get expensive."

_Ugh._ Was it even worth continuing to deny it? Pete rolled his head back with a groan and covered his face with his hands as if he needed to hold back the urge to scream.

"But ya know what? That's not the point." She had to circle back to the superhero secret identity thing. "The way Spider-Man showed up after you left couldn't have been a coincidence and it wasn’t his Spider Sense that told him we needed his help.” 

He sat up a little straighter, ready to interject and use this as an opportunity to admit that he has secret access to a means of contacting the vigilante, but of course Gwen would have already thought of that. 

"Oh, and don't feed me any bull about just being friends with the neighborhood hero. If that was the case, you wouldn't have to disappear everytime he shows up."

"And you’ve been disappearing _a lot_ lately, whenever any big things go down. Coming back with pictures of Spider-Man and strange bruises. You were never half as clumsy as you’ve been pretending to be - except for those sudden rare acts of extraordinary coordination. _Don’t_ insult my intelligence, Peter. **You’re Spider-Man.** Do I really need to continue with more specifics?”

Wide eyed, he shook his head, "Wow. You’ve really thought about this.”  Peter sighed, rubbing the back of his head and mussing his hair. Finally, he shrugged, "So when did you figure it all out? What really gave me away?”

"When you saved me from Doc Ock’s lab as the whole place was crashing down around us. That’s when all the pieces came together and I couldn’t deny it any longer. I mean, your body type and voice are the same. Maybe a bit muffled and a lot more cocky. But for someone who’s been as close to you as I have, it seemed pretty obvious by that point.”

Peter nodded, leaning forward in his seat and staring at the floor without really seeing it. He needed a moment to take it all in. To absorb the fact that she’d figured it out. That he wasn’t alone in this crazy adventure anymore. "Okay,” he raised his head to meet her eyes, "Okay, so now you know. Wow. It actually feels _so good_ to finally have someone to share this secret with.”

"You haven’t told anyone yet? Not even Aunt May?”

_“Especially not Aunt May."_

"She must suspect that something is up.”

"You’d be surprised. She almost keeps busier than I do. Besides, she already has enough to worry about. Since what happened to Uncle Ben -” his voice unexpectedly broke into a gasp, " _oh god,_ I - there’s so much I want to tell you. So much that I haven’t been able to tell _anyone_.”  Peter had tears in his eyes. _‘She knows. I can finally really explain what happened, and she’ll understand. I don’t have to carry this burden alone anymore.’_

Gwen reached out to hold his hand. "I’m here for you, Peter, I promise, and I’m not going anywhere. There’ll be plenty of time to talk. Just start at the beginning.” She offered him a sad smile and looked around for a kleenex box. By the time Peter had told the story, it was more than half empty and he’d got up from the chair to sit beside Gwen on the couch. She’d welcomed him with a warm embrace and tucked his face into her shoulder as she stroked his hair.  

"I know you’re not going to stop, but, Peter, please be careful. And don't be afraid to ask your friends for help. This is our city too. _Our home._ You're not the only one that feels a powerful responsibility to defend it against thugs and supervillains. Let us do our part. _We want to be there for you,_ you just need to let us.” He murmured assent into her collar. Taking comfort in her warmth and the smell of her hair.

She tightened her grip around him as she continued, "And your life as Peter Parker matters too. Don't _ever_ forget that. You have people that care about you. People that need you to come home safe. So none of that sacrificial hero bullshit if you can help it, you got that?"

“Yes. No reckless self-sacrificial bullshit. **_I promise_ ,** cross my heart and hope to _die_.”  She punched his shoulder and they both surprised themselves with a burst of laughter. They stayed like that for a while, holding each other. Her playing with his hair or rubbing his back. Their schoolwork going ignored for the moment. Lost in their own thoughts, but enjoying the intimacy of the moment. They were both usually so busy, these opportunities came too few and far between.

Before they were friends, they’d had an intense academic rivalry, fighting for the top spot in all their classes, and then somehow Harry and Mary Jane had charmed her into sitting at their table. They’d all become really close, and she’s so smart and pretty. _‘For a supposed genius, I’m such an idiot sometimes.’_

“Um, Gwen? I - I’d been wanting to ask… for - for a while now. Do you - would you like to, um,” this was a disaster, but it was too late to back out now. _‘Just say it.’_ Peter winced, ducked his head and quickly mumbled, “Do you wanna maybe go out with me?” He cleared his voice and subconsciously rubbed the back of his neck. “On a date, I mean,” though judging by the look of horror on Gwen Stacy’s face, that clarification was not necessary.

_'Oh my god,’_ Pete felt so stupid right then. Somehow he’d just thought - somewhere between saving Gwen’s life and her figuring out his secret - he’d thought maybe there was some chemistry there. Why was this so awkward? _‘I have terribly misjudged this situation, haven’t I?’_

Peter had absolutely no idea how he had ever actually managed to score a date with Liz Allan, and had chalked it up to some kind of miracle that she’d been the one pursuing him. If it had been up to him to do the asking, he was clearly hopeless. _‘She knows Liz and I broke up, right? Who am I kidding, everyone knows, the whole school must’ve heard. What with all the shouting and the way Sally spreads gossip.’_

When he had finally been honest with himself, he admitted that he had only liked Liz because he was so overjoyed by the prospect of actually having a girlfriend, _a hot girlfriend._  But they didn’t really have very much in common, and the whole affair seemed like a whole lot of drama for a lot of awkward and unsatisfying time together with someone who really didn’t understand him or the things he was into. But he and Gwen have so much in common, didn’t they? They share a circle of close friends, they’re both huge nerds, science geeks, and - and _\- why was she looking at him like the very thought of them dating caused so much physical discomfort as to be almost painful?_

"Peter, I like you, as a friend, but I -” 

Pete winced and vigorously shook his head. "You don’t have to explain, if you don’t want to. I don’t need to know. I mean, if you’re not interested, that’s okay, I totally understand,”  his rambling was stopped by frantic shushing noises and Gwen pushing her hand over his mouth.

_"Peter,_ **stop**. Don’t make this _weird,_ okay? _I’m gay._ I'm only interested in dating _girls._ ”

"Oh.” 


End file.
